


The Better Part of Valour

by Kithri



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You realise, of course, that this is all your fault," I pronounce cheerfully.</p><p>"I had not realised that I had such control over the actions of others," Teyla murmurs in response. "If that were the case, then this mission might have gone very differently."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lunabee34 's Fanwork Gateverse Extravaganza
> 
> Prompt by havocthecat - Teyla/Vala: Negotiation is just a more subtle form of thievery

"You realise, of course, that this is all your fault," I pronounce cheerfully.

I resettle the pack on my shoulders, hiding a wince as the motion makes my bruised ribs twinge and sends a spike of pain stabbing viciously through my head. Not that I need to bother. Teyla doesn't cast so much as a glance in my direction, which is a waste of the smile I've readied especially for her.

(Innocent as a newborn babe. One of my best, if I do say so myself.)

"I had not realised that I had such control over the actions of others," she murmurs in response. "If that were the case, then this mission might have gone very differently."

 

* * * * *

 

I'm bored.

I lie back on my bed, hands folded behind my head, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it. I twitch one of my feet in time to the beat of the music coming from the tinny speakers on my bedside table.

Say what you will about the Tau'ri, some of them certainly know how to put together a catchy tune.

The iPod -- a peculiar name, because the device doesn't look particularly pod-like, or eye-like -- was a gift from Daniel. One that he intentionally gave me, even, rather than something that 'accidentally' happened to fall into my pocket. Unlike those rather natty sunglasses of Cameron's that I've been coveting for a while.

Well, they do look much better on me than on him.

Anyway, I'm planning on bringing him -- and the rest of the team -- back something nice when I return from my travels.

When I do, I really must ask Daniel to explain some of these lyrics to me. I think I may be missing some vital context. Such as: who is 'Galileo Figaro' and why is he holding someone captive? Is he some kind of justicar? A warlord, perhaps?

Perhaps someone here will be able to tell me.

I contemplate the ceiling, which has, alas, gained not a single interesting feature since I last focused my attention on it.

I attempt to amuse myself by estimating the market value of the contents, fixtures and fittings of my rooms, but my heart just isn't in it.

I'm *bored*.

Very, very bored.

Which, on the face of it, is completely and utterly ridiculous.

Not that I don't get bored easily, because I do. I really, really do.

If I had a flaw, maybe that would be it. Maybe.

But I'm standing -- well, currently sprawling -- slap bang in the middle of a technological marvel. Atlantis! City of the Ancients, filled with gadgets and gizmos and gew gaws galore. Interesting gadgets. Valuable gadgets. Eminently portable gadgets.

Well, many of them are portable. Others... not so much.

Not that I've given up on the idea of acquiring a chappa'ai -- stargate -- of my very own, precisely, but there are a few teeny-tiny technical issues I need to work out. Okay, maybe more than a few. I'm working on it, alright?

So much potential wealth here, just lying around.

Maybe not quite lying around, I suppose. Some of it is 'secure'.

No, no, that isn't laughter. It's just a coughing fit. Honest.

Anyway, the *important* part here is that Atlantis is stuffed to the gills with shinies. Not to mention being a big, giant shiny in its own right.

And, despite the abundance of shiny, Vala Mal Doran is bored.

I did not come to Atlantis to be bored.

I came for the adventure. For the experience. For the riches.

(And, okay, maybe the thought of being far away from Stargate Command for a little while had its benefits. Not that any of that mess was my fault, of course. Not really. Not at all, in fact. How was *I* supposed to know that the man was some important high-up muckety-muck? He should've had a badge, or a special hat, or something to give a girl a little warning that he was someone Not To Be Trifled With.)

(Anyway, someone in his position had no business being that gullible. I was doing him a favour, really. I should be *commended*, not cast into exile.)

Well, whatever my reasons, I'm here now.

And I refuse to be bored a moment longer.

Buoyed by a new determination, I retrieve my little music-player, bound from my bed and stride purposefully for the door.

I'm going to find something interesting to do.

And, if I can't find anything?

I toss my hair jauntily, putting a spring in my step and feeling a smile spread across my face.

Well, then. I'll just have to improvise.

 

* * * * *

 

Sometimes, to borrow one of Cameron's more colourful phrases (albeit not one he uses where any of his superiors might catch him), my life sucks donkey balls.

You know, now that I think about it, that is actually quite a revolting phrase.

I think I approve.

It certainly seems appropriate right at this juncture.

And if there's one lesson I can take away from my current situation, it's this: no good deed goes unpunished.

Teyla looks around warily as we trudge through the seemingly endless forest. It stretches all around as far as the eye can see, a monotonous expanse of trees, more trees and even more trees.

Oh look, another tree. What novelty. How can I contain my surprise?

This is great. This is just *wonderful*. I'm a city girl at heart. Hiking through the wilderness isn't, well, it just isn't me.

Worst date *ever*.

(Hmmm... Actually, no. My mistake. I have had worse dates. *Much* worse dates. At least the company here is pleasant, even if the location and activities leave rather a lot to be desired.)

I follow Teyla's example and keep a careful watch on our surroundings as we blaze a trail through the fortunately sparse undergrowth. Not that we're *expecting* to meet anyone else in this godsforsaken place -- it certainly looked deserted during our earlier flyby -- but better safe than sorry. Besides, there's always the local wildlife to worry about.

As if on cue, a sudden sound splits the air: the distinctive honk-screech of a hunting pterak. Ah, yes. The pterak. Proof that some things are just too ugly to die out. No matter how much you want them to.

I've seen them on other worlds of the Pegasus galaxy, often near chappa'ai. The boffins think that's how they've managed to spread so widely; by hitching a ride through open wormholes. Apparently, Atlantis even had their own pterak infestation a little while back. I guess that's why they know so much about them.

Ugh.

I'm just glad they dealt with it before I got there, otherwise I might just have turned right around and headed for somewhere else. I simply will *not* put up with vermin in my living place. Especially when the vermin wants to eat me.

Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it.

Never again.

Teyla and I both freeze in place, waiting.

The sound comes again, making me want to clap my hands over my ears; making me want to move, to run, to flee far away from that noise and the thing making it.

Which, of course, is the point.

Pteraks are leathery-winged flying monstrosities with razor-sharp beaks and claws. Pack-hunters. Well, flock-hunters. Their usual tactic involves flying around making that dreadful noise to scare potential prey out of hiding. Apparently there's something about a pterak's cry that makes it particularly good at that.

Something something harmonics, something something flight reflex.

Whatever.

I tuned out the rest of the biology geek's lecture. I think he had a thing for predators. Or maybe he was just trying to impress me with his knowledge.

It wouldn't be the first time.

Honestly, I was more impressed with his portable life-signs scanner. Just think of all the applications! I would -- well, someone would -- never need be surprised by unexpectedly-approaching guards ever again.

Ahem.

Justin -- the geek -- did look cute when he was all lit up with enthusiasm like that, I suppose. He had pretty brown eyes and skin the colour of cocoa. A little too puppyish for my tastes, though.

Frankly, I'm surprised I remember as much of his ramblings as I do.

The pterak keeps up the noise, but Teyla and I are made of sterner stuff than its usual prey.

We wait it out.

 

* * * * *

 

I watch the arguing trio gathered in front of Elizabeth's desk, waiting for just the right moment to jump into the conversation.

"I'll go with you," I offer brightly, gracing them with my most brilliant smile.

They break off their discussion to look at me as I lean casually against the doorframe. Colonel Sheppard frowns deeply, his furrowed brow suddenly reminding me a great deal of a somewhat peeved Cameron. (Whom I do not miss in the slightest. Really. Military stuffed-shirt that he is.) Dr McKay blinks at me, mouth still half-open from being interrupted mid-rant. It makes him look rather like my pet goldfish.

(I'm not entirely sure what was going through Teal'c's head when he gave the creature to me as a going-away present, but I was hardly going to argue with the big lunk. It's quite sweet, really. I definitely have to remember to bring him back something nice. I've somehow managed not to kill Mr Bubbles -- the fish -- yet, which, frankly, I find rather impressive. I, ah, I generally haven't had the best of luck with pets.)

(Not counting SG-1, of course.)

Teyla's pretty face is calm, her feelings -- whatever they might be -- hidden behind a mask of thoughtful neutrality. I turn my smile up a notch as I meet her eyes, trying to provoke a reaction, any reaction, from the woman.

I get nothing.

You know, a girl could almost take that as a challenge.

Elizabeth is hidden by the others, but her voice sounds dryly amused as she greets me. "Good morning, Vala."

"Good morning, Dr Weir. Elizabeth," I say, matching her tone perfectly.

"Were you eavesdropping?" John asks, blunt as always. I do so like that about him. I think it's one of his best features.

That and his rather well-defined muscles.

I shrug. "Not on purpose," I lie blithely. "You and McKay were being *very* loud, so I couldn't help picking up enough to get the gist of the situation: Ronon is sick, which leaves you a man short for this mission." I let my smile melt into a sober expression, making my voice low and sympathetic. "I do hope Ronon's illness is nothing serious."

I actually mean that, of course. I don't really know the big guy, but I certainly wouldn't wish any harm on him. Still, I can't help appreciating the convenience of his timing. I mean, if he's going to get sick anyway, it might as well be at a time when someone else -- when I -- can benefit from his misfortune.

It's only practical.

"A severe allergic reaction to some pollen," McKay says, adding stridently. "I told you all those plants were evil, but did anyone believe me? No, they just mocked. Mocked!" He flings his hands up, rolling his eyes melodramatically. "And then, when I was vindicated, did *anyone* apologise?" He glowers darkly at Sheppard, clearly showing the true target of his ire. "No. No, they most certainly did not."

"Dr Beckett assures us that Ronon will be fine in a day or so," Teyla tells me. "I will pass on your good wishes. But, as you correctly point out, his unfortunate indisposition does leave our current expedition short-handed."

"Does it matter?" Mckay asks, sounding frustrated. "We know the natives are friendly, and the preliminary expeditions haven't picked up any real hazards. Certainly nothing that would bother us in the city. I'm sure having one person less won't make any difference to our safety, but delaying for even a day or two will deny me valuable data!"

Sheppard looks like he's actually considering that, so I have to break in swiftly. "Why take unnecessary risks?" I ask, reasonably. I step into the office, maneouvring around the others until I can meet Elizabeth's eyes. When it comes down to it, she's the one I really have to convince. She is, after all, the woman in charge. "I'm here, I'm trained in your protocols and I'm more than willing to step into the breach."

"Whatever, let's just go!" Mckay says, impatiently. "That signal might be fading as we speak!"

"Vala has a point," Teyla states, somehow managing to make my name sound more formal than any number of titles and honorifics. She inclines her head towards me. "I see no reason not to accept her offer."

Her support is unexpected, but not unwelcome. I wonder at her reasons, but I'm certainly not complaining. I return her nod, unable to resist throwing a saucy wink her way.

Still no reaction. Damn. I must really be off my game.

That's alright. I guess I'll just have to try harder.

"I don't know," Sheppard says, slowly. I'm not surprised that he turns out to be the problem. What *is* it with these uptight Tau'ri military men? Does part of their training involve having a stick surgically inserted up their-

"I think it's a good idea," says Elizabeth, interrupting my train of thought. She looks at Sheppard. "Get Ms Mal Doran kitted out, and then you can be on your way. I see no reason to delay your mission any further."

She reaches out and taps at the keyboard in front of her, a clear indication that this conversation is over.

(I'm pleased about this, I really am, but a small part of me can't help wondering. Why is it that administrators always seem to be glad to get me off their ship, base or planet? It's almost enough to give a girl a complex.)

"But-" Sheppard starts to say, then subsides as Elizabeth arches an eyebrow at him. "Fine," he grinds out, yielding with bad grace. I heroically manage not to smirk, meeting his gaze innocently as he turns the full force of his beetling brow on me and grumbles: "Let's go get you equipped."

"Great!" I chirp, following the others' lead as they take Elizabeth's leave and file out of her office. "This is going to be fun!"

 

* * * * *

 

I am not having fun right now. My ribs are throbbing, my head is pounding, my hair is matted with a combination of sweat and dried blood, and there's an itch between my shoulder blades that I just can't seem to reach, no matter how much I squirm.

That damned pterak! Why did it have to go and invite its friends to the party? I don't even know how long they've been flapping around up there, making those blood-curdling noises. Surely they've got to lose interest at some point? Just how stupid are these things?

For what feels like the thousandth time, I scan the surroundings, looking for something, anything, that might help to get us out of this predicament. Communication devices. Transport. A secondary chappa'ai.

Or, alternatively, something shiny to take my mind off things.

There's nothing.

Nothing but the seemingly neverending forest. Grarled and twisted tree after gnarled and twisted tree, with bark like wrinkled leather and leaves like torn and ragged scraps of yellowed paper.

They are, officially, the ugliest trees I've ever seen.

I can almost imagine that those whorls and lines on their trunks look like faces. Faces with open mouths. Screaming endlessly.

How lovely.

It's turned chilly here all of a sudden.

My, what a morbid frame of mind I'm in right now. But I suppose it's hardly suprising, given the situation. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, who knows how far from civilisation, with no transport and no comms. Armed with nothing but our P90s, knives and stout sticks.

Pinned down by creatures that want to have us for supper.

(I really miss my zat gun. I can't believe it's gone. I brought it all the way across the intergalactic void, only to lose it in a stupid puddlejumper crash.)

(It's just not fair.)

Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

Such an undignified way to die.

I'm just starting to wonder if we're going to be stuck here until dark when, mercifully, the bird-brains finally seem to reach the end of their patience. One moment, the air is filled with the sound of their screeching and flapping, and the next...

Blessed silence.

I sigh deeply.

"Think we can move now?" I ask softly. Teyla knows more about these things than I do. She's actually taken on the bastards before. Without the luxury of automatic weapons, no less. I must admit, it gives me a whole new level of respect for her skills now that I've actually seen the damn things up close.

"A few minutes longer," she replies. "There may be stragglers." A few minutes pass. I try to concentrate on pleasant thoughts, and not on what it would be like to have the flesh stripped from my bones while I'm still alive. Eventually, Teyla takes a cautious step, and then another, and then another. She nods. "Let us continue."

"Finally!" I mutter, taking the opportunity to set my pack down and have a good, proper stretch. When I look up, I am a little surprised to see Teyla watching me with narrowed eyes. I meet my gaze, raising my eyebrows enquiringly.

"You are still favouring your side," she notes. "And your head wound has been bleeding again."

I shrug. "I'll live." Something twists in my chest, and without thinking about it I find myself adding: "I've had worse." I half expect the obvious question, but she just looks at me with those dark, inscrutable eyes of hers, and then comes over to prod at my injuries. "Hey!" I protest, half-heartedly, but I don't really make any attempt to stop her. "Any excuse to get your hands on me," I mutter.

She snorts quietly. "If I wanted to put my hands on you, Vala Mal Doran, you would know it. Now, hold still."

A little surprised, I eye her askance. I'm really not sure if she's threatening me or flirting with me.

Either way, it's kind of hot.

Unfortunately, I've left it a little long to deliver a witty response, so I grudgingly let her remark pass for now.

I make no promises about later.

Teyla's fingers are surprisingly gentle on my skin, but it still hurts. I bear her ministrations stoically.

"Stop squirming," she admonishes.

"I'm not squirming! I have pins and needles, that's all." She gives me a look.

No, sorry. She gives me a Look.

I sigh heavily, and do my best to keep still so she can poke and prod at me, earning myself an approving nod.

A few moments pass.

"Hmm," she says, noncommittally.

I wait a moment, but she shows no sign of expanding on that.

"Hmm, what?" I ask. "Hmm, looks minor, and should heal just fine? Hmm, I'm in imminent danger of death without medical treatment? You can't leave a girl in suspense like that."

"Your injuries are not immediately life-threatening, but they are hampering your movements, and I am concerned that you will not be able to move quickly if the situation calls for it." She frowns, adding softly. "And they must be causing you pain."

I shrug and step back, keeping the wince from my face. "I can run if I have to. You just worry about keeping us pointed in the right direction. The sooner we reach the stargate, the sooner we can get help."

She looks like she wants to say more, but in the end she simply inclines her head in a way that I've come to suspect means 'I am not conceding the point, but I do not wish to argue with you any further.'

All she says aloud, however, is: "As you wish."

We start walking again.

 

* * * * *

 

I try (and fail) to get comfortable on the puddlejumper's seat. Honestly, would it have killed the designers to try to add a little more padding? Maybe an armrest or two? Some decent neck support?

Surely we must be almost there by now.

"Where's the settlement?" McKay asks, echoing my thought. He's sitting next to Sheppard, the pilot. Teyla and I are in the back.

I'm beginning to wish I had -- what was Cameron's expression? Ah, yes -- called shotgun.

Definitely on the way back.

Maybe even pilot if I can peel Sheppard away from the controls. It's never too early to start learning how to pilot a new craft, just in case I should ever need to appropriate one.

Purely in the interests of mission efficiency, after all.

"It's some distance from the gate," Sheppard says. "Just hold your horses; we'll be there soon enough."

McKay sighs loudly and starts pushing buttons. "I guess it gives me more time to collect some readings," he says.

"You do that," Sheppard encourages. Lowering his voice, he adds. "Give me some peace and quiet."

I exchange an amused look with Teyla, the silent rapport making me wonder if she's perhaps not as stiff as I first thought. Maybe she's just quiet.

With McKay on the team, I can certainly understand that. He seems to provide more than enough noise for all of us.

After a moment, I lean towards Teyla companionably, giving her a friendly, interested smile.

"So, tell me about the people on this world. What are they like? Are there any customs and taboos I should be aware of? I'd hate to offend anyone by accident."

On purpose, yes, but doing so by accident is just gauche.

I don't ask the question I really want to ask, which is: do these people have any good stuff?

Teyla favours me with a smile of her own, something that looks like approval in her eyes.

(It's probably just as well I didn't ask the last question. I doubt she would look quite so pleased with me then.)

"The Amata people believe the act of creation is sacred. Do not insult or damage anything that anyone has created, especially not anyone who is important. Also, be circumspect with any praise you give to their creations, for proper evaluation is considered the province of the holy order known as the Testers."

I tilt my head, considering. This sounds promising. "So, these people are big on making things? What kind of things?"

Teyla spreads her hands. "Anything that can be crafted by a human. Buildings. Furniture. Tools. Clothing. Art. Even non-physical constructs like arguments or poetry, although these are considered somewhat less important than the physical. But, when it comes to physical construction, the Amata do not distinguish. They merely strive for the perfection of their craft, whatever that craft should be."

"I see," I murmur. "Thank you for the information."

"You are most welcome."

I lean back, lost in thought.

A society of people dedicated to making pretty trinkets? This just gets better and better. If they spend so much of their time making things, they must have lots of them just lying around. I bet they wouldn't miss a few here and there. And I bet I could get a good price for their creations on other worlds.

A warm and fuzzy feeling settles in my chest as I contemplate the possibilities.

The day seems to be looking up.

 

* * * * *

 

"Tell me about yourself," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us for the last mile or so.

I'm bored of silence. I'm bored of walking. I'm bored of trees.

I'm bored of hurting.

I knew this mission wouldn't end well.

"There is little to tell," she says, sounding distant.

"Then it won't take long, will it?"

For a moment, I don't think she's actually going to answer, but then she sighs softly.

"I am the daughter of Tagan and Torren Emmagan, of the Athosian people. I am the leader of my people, although-"

"The leader? Like a queen?"

I consider a moment, imagining Teyla clad in royal vestments, airily issuing proclamations from a golden throne. Hmmm... No. I really can't see her doing that.

But I bet she'd look good all dolled up.

Pleasant thought.

She makes a clicking noise with her tongue; perhaps irritation at my interruption. I consider the reaction a small victory.

"*Not* like a queen," she says, firmly. "My people and I all consider ourselves to be equals."

"But some are more equal than others?" I can't resist goading her.

She shoots me a quelling look. I blink innocently back at her. Well, this is more amusing than I expected. Perhaps she's not so reserved after all.

I know I shouldn't be trying to antagonise her, that we need to work together. And that I might need her to put in a good word for me when we get back to Atlantis. (Assuming we survive this. Which I'm assuming we do, because any other outcome is completely unacceptable.) But a part of me is *really* tempted to see if I can provoke her into losing her temper.

I mustn't. I know I mustn't.

But still, the temptation is there.

In any case, my last remark wasn't enough to tip the scales. Teyla apparently decides to take my question at face value, answering calmly.

"Even amongst a community of equals, someone must be the final arbiter of decisions that affect the community as a whole." Her voice takes on a droll note. "Otherwise, nothing will be decided. At least, not with any great speed." After the brief flash of humour, her demeanour sobers again. "And speed was of the essence, especially when the Wraith turned their gaze our way."

I feel a pang of something in my chest.

Maybe it's indigestion.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, surprising myself.

I wonder if I surprise Teyla. If so, she doesn't show it, merely inclining her head towards me.

"Thank you," she says, quietly. In a stronger voice, she continues. "The Lanteans made contact with us shortly after their arrival in this galaxy. When the Wraith attacked, the Lanteans offered us sanctuary on the world they had claimed, and the bulk of my people now live on the mainland there."

This part I already knew. I try to make a point of knowing who I'm sharing a world with. Less chance of unpleasant surprises that way. Point of fact, I've been meaning to take a trip out to the mainland sometime, make some new friends. You never know when they're going to come in handy.

Maybe Teyla can put in a good word for me.

"But you joined the Tau'ri explorers," I note.

She cocks her head to the side. "I am not familiar with the word Tau'ri. Is it another way of saying Lanteans?"

"I suppose it is. It is how the Goa'uld refer to the people from their homeworld, back in the Milky Way galaxy. The name kind of stuck."

"Thank you for the information." She frowns a little. "I have heard of Goa'uld. They are... parasitic beings, yes? They take humans as hosts, and are often worshipped as gods on the planets of their home galaxy?"

"Yes," I say, a little brusquely.

There's a roaring in my ears, a tightness in my chest. Residue from the crash. 

It must be.

Not anything else.

(Not fear. Not panic. Not memories of what it was like to be a host. Of watching helplessly from behind my own eyes while my body did terrible things. Of needing to scream, but not being able to make the smallest sound. Of being trapped in my own skin.)

(No. Enough.)

(Long ago and far away and over and done.)

(It has no power over me.)

(Not anymore.)

"So, why did you join the *Lantean* explorers?" I ask.

She thinks that over for a moment or two, letting the question hang there in the air while she ponders.

At least, I assume that's what she's doing. There's certainly a bit of a gap before she finally answers it.

"They needed my skills," she says, simply. "They gave my people sanctuary, so it seemed only right to aid them in turn. And through working with the Lanteans, I am better able to help my people." Her tone turns a little wry. "Although, it has meant that I have had to delegate some of my leadership duties to others." She falls silent again, but just as I'm about to ask her something else, she adds, almost as an afterthought: "I have to admit that I enjoy the work I do. Exploring new places, meeting and forming alliances with new peoples... I find it highly stimulating." She gives me a small smile. "But I could ask you the same question. Why did you forsake your old life to join with the... the Tau'ri?"

Huh. I think that was the largest number of words I have ever heard her speak in one go.

"For the adventure, of course," I say lightly. "There's never a dull moment with SG-1."

I start to say something else, to ask another question, but then she draws in a sharp breath and I stop to study her thoughtfully. She's pale, very pale, and her forehead is beaded with sweat. She's panting a little, as if she can't quite get enough air, and that's not... Her eyes aren't shuttered, they're glassy and glazed.

She's hurt.

Not stopping to think about it, I cross the gap between us and place my hand on her forehead. Hmm. Cold and clammy.

"Vala!" she grumbles, sounding vaguely irritated. For her, that must be like yelling in anger. She raises a hand to push mine away, but there's no real force behind it. I ignore her protests, running my hands gently over her arms, her back, her stomach...

Oh.

From her sharp intake of breath, I have a reasonable idea what I'm going to see when I lift her tunic. Sure enough, her abdomen is swathed in bandages, the white linen stained with blood.

Because our day was going so well up until now.

Her wound isn't gushing, thank the gods, but it does appear to be seeping a little. I start adding up the minutes, the hours, frowning as I try to work out what level of blood loss she's likely suffering.

"What happened?" I ask quietly, a little surprised at how tight my voice sounds.

She pulls her tunic free of my fingers, smoothing it back down into place over the bandages. I don't fight her.

Not yet.

"Something sharp sliced into my side during the crash." Her tone matches mine. "I do not believe any of my internal organs have been perforated, so my main problem in the short-term is blood loss. Infection may be a problem in the longer term, but hopefully we will have made it to safety before then."

"You should have told me," I say, quietly. "I could have tried to stitch it up."

"With what?" she asks. "Most of the medical supplies were lost in the crash."

She has a point there, I have to grudgingly admit. Although surely, between the two of us, we must have been able to improvise something.

"I could have helped with the dressing, at least. It can't have been easy to bind it yourself."

"I managed."

She's also somehow managed to regain her equanimity, seeming so calm, so serene, so unruffled that it's pissing me right the hell off.

"You should have told me." I let some of my irritation show, letting it give my words a chill edge.

"You were unconscious at the time. By the time you were awake again, I had already taken care of it. There seemed little point in troubling you."

"You should have *told* me," I say, again. "At the very least, I deserve to know anything that might affect our progress. Our *survival*. I thought we were in this together, Teyla." I pause, looking her levelly in the eyes. "Unless you don't trust me."

Unless she thinks I'm going to, what? Abandon her for slowing me down? Hit her over the head and take her stuff while she can't fight back?

Whatever.

It's fine. It is. I'm used to people not trusting me. It isn't like I don't give them reason, over and over again.

But...

(It still hurts.)

She doesn't even *know* me. Not really. And after what we did together, I thought...

Never mind. It doesn't matter.

Teyla actually looks away, briefly, just the merest flicker of her eyes. When she meets my gaze again, there is something like chagrin on her face.

"You are correct. I should have told you," she says, her tone matter of fact. I shrug, thinking that's the end of it, that she's going to politely sidestep the whole trust issue, but she hasn't finished yet. "It is not that I do not trust you, Vala. It is..." Her mouth twists in a wry smile. "I can be... stubborn sometimes, when it comes to admitting weakness. Any weakness. It is, I suppose, a personal failing. I hope that you will not hold it against me."

Oh. Well.

That's different.

That's something I can sympathise with.

"I see." I return her smile with one of my own, just as wry, to let her know that there are no hard feelings, before putting my serious face back on. "So, how bad is it, really? Want me to take a look? Do you need to rest for a while?"

"I think it would be best not to disturb the dressing," she says, swiftly. "It will become serious if left untreated for too long, but for the moment it is not slowing me down overmuch. I do not need to rest just yet. I would prefer to try to cover as much ground as we can before it gets dark." She nods once, decisively, as if that settles the matter. "Let us keep moving."

She suits the action to the words, her movements far smoother and steadier than I would have expected.

The woman must have a will of iron.

But will her body hold up?

I hesitate for a moment, frowning in her direction. Would it be better for her to hole up somewhere while I travel onwards to the chappa'ai to get help? *Is* there anywhere safe enough for her to take shelter? This area does have its dangers, after all.

Could I even find my way to the chappa'ai by myself?

In the end, full of misgivings, I follow along after her, a part of me wanting to throw my head back and howl my frustration into the trees.

I never asked to be responsible for anyone else. I'm a survivor. I can take care of myself just fine. But when it comes to taking care of others...

Maybe she'll be alright. Maybe we're closer than we think. Maybe Sheppard and McKay will manage to get in touch with Atlantis and they'll send a rescue team after us. Maybe they'll figure out where we are.

So many maybes.

But in the meantime, there is something I can do.

Walking next to Teyla, I surreptitiously reach out and snag the flashlight attached to the back of her pack. She doesn't seem to notice, which is good. The flashlight is solid; hefty. Maybe it's only a fraction of her pack's total weight, but every little helps, right?

I may not know Teyla very well, but from what I've seen so far, she'd never dream of asking me to take more than my fair share. And I strongly doubt she'd accept an offer of help.

Fortunately, with my particular talents, I don't need to say a thing.

I reach out again.

 

* * * * *

 

"Look, *Doctor*, just give me a simple yes or no: can you narrow down the source of the energy signature?"

"It's just not that simple, Sheppard! There are all sorts of factors to-"

"So, that's a no."

"It is *not* a no! I'm just-"

"So, it's a yes?"

"Will you just-"

The two men argue back and forth, Sheppard becoming terser and terser while McKay gesticulates wildly and gets very red in the face. 

Idly, I wonder how long they've been together. 

(Some people might concern themselves with 'if', but, really, if I'm going to speculate, why bother confining myself to boring things like facts?) 

People don't bicker like that unless they're comfortable with each other, and from what I've seen of their interactions, these two must be very comfortable indeed. That kind of passion, that combination of alpha-personalities, must certainly make for some real sparks in the bedroom.

"Gentlemen." Teyla interrupts the, ah, spirited discussion -- and my pleasant musings regarding potential endings -- bestowing them each with a quelling glance. "As fascinating as this discovery doubtless is, let us not forget that we are primarily here to open trade negotiations with the Amata. There will be plenty of time to gather information. It is even possible that our hosts may tell us what they know, should we make a good enough impression upon them."

"He started it," McKay mutters, but he obediently returns to pushing buttons and fiddling with various bits of technical equipment. Sheppard glowers at him, his mouth compressed into a tight line as he returns his attention to flying the puddlejumper.

Mmmm. I bet that's a discussion they're going to be continuing later.

Vigorously. In private.

I am a little impressed by Teyla's sudden air of command. Apparently, 'reserved' is not nearly the same thing as 'timid.' Not that I ever really thought of her as timid, of course, but now she's just become positively *interesting*.

Which is good, because in my experience, the Tau'ri could always use a little more of that.

And I am but one woman.

 

* * * * *

 

"What of your story, Vala?" Teyla's voice is surprisingly light for a woman who's slowly bleeding to death.

I just hope I'm exaggerating about that last part.

"What about it?" I answer her automatically, surreptitiously studying her for any signs of imminent collapse. At least her pack is substantially lighter now. I've been removing items from it, here and there, stuffing them into my own.

My ribs do not approve.

She figured out what I was doing eventually, of course. Not so eventually, actually. I may be superlatively light-fingered, but even I have my limits. (Although, if anyone ever asks, I will deny that to my very last breath. Vala Mal Doran does *not* have limits. It's a known fact.) And I saw her heft her pack during our last brief stop (only as long as it took to eat some meagre rations and to relieve ourselves; she was apparently serious about not wanting to rest until dark), looking at it, and then at mine, with the strangest expression on her face.

So, she knows. 

And yet, she has not spoken of it.

I find that... worrying.

She must be worse off than I thought.

"I have told you my life story," she says, patiently. "I would know yours, if you would tell it."

"Oh, it's not very interesting." I keep my voice airy and light, my attention on the ground as I step carefully over a hole.

This part of the forest seems to be riddled with the damn things. Blackened, round, smooth-sided depressions in the earth, like countless tiny impact craters. And they are almost invariably fringed with some kind of... Well, it looks like moss, but it's bright blue and smells strange. Like... Like rusting metal.

Not for the first time, I wonder what *happened* to this place. Natural disaster? Industry? War? The Amata seem like a relatively peaceful people for the most part, but I suppose that may not always have been true.

And, there are always the Wraith.

"I do not believe that," says Teyla, a hint of reproach her voice.

"Are you calling me a liar, Teyla?" I grin wickedly at her, stepping into her personal space and making my voice breathy and low. "A girl could get awfully offended at such an accusation. Maybe you'd better make it up to me before I get... upset."

She doesn't back away. Or move in, more's the pity. Instead, she tilts her head consideringly, meeting my gaze without challenge.

"Do you often flirt to cover discomfort?"

I lean in until our lips are almost touching, letting my smile turn predatory, letting the suggestion of heat seep into my eyes.

"Maybe I just like flirting with a beautiful women." But I can tell she's not convinced, not the slightest thrown off-balance, damn her composure. So I sigh dramatically and step back out of her personal space. "Alright, if you really want to know my life story, I suppose I can oblige."

The woman is obviously fascinated by me. I can understand why she'd want to know more.

"I would like that," she says, her tone neutral despite the lively interest in her eyes.

(And if there's anything else there, any scrutiny, or calculation, then I don't want to see it.)

I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. It is the traditional way of doing things, after all.

"My homeworld was a nothing little backwater in the arse end of its galaxy," I begin. "Naturally, I seized the first opportunity I could to get the hell out of there. That turned out to involve becoming a smuggler's apprentice, thus starting me out on my lucrative and exciting life of, ah, adventure."

I pause to wink insouciantly at Teyla, taking the opportunity to gauge her reaction. (Not that I care what she thinks about me. Not really. It's just useful to know.)

I can't really tell what she's thinking right now, which is seven shades of irritating.

"How old were you then?" she asks.

I actually have to think about the answer to that one.

"Somewhere between five and ten," I say, waving a hand dismissively to show that it isn't important.

(And she definitely doesn't need to know that becoming Fierenze's servant wasn't exactly my choice. Because I'll take distrust, disappointment and even outright dislike over pity any day of the week.)

"What about your parents? Did they not object?"

I shrug. "My mother was dead, and I think my father and stepmother realised it was a better life than I would have had on my homeworld. Besides." I give her a lopsided grin. "It was sort of carrying on a family tradition."

"I... see."

No, somehow, I really don't think she does. But I'm certainly not going to enlighten her.

"I learned the tricks of the smuggling trade from my mentor" -- owner -- "until he met a, ah, rather unfortunate end." At my hand. Unfortunate for him, pretty damned fortunate for me. "Then I struck out on my own. By that point, I knew I loved to travel and explore, so I spent some time wandering the galaxy, seeing all the wonders it had to offer." I shrug, letting my eyes sparkle wickedly. "And occasionally acquiring some of them."

Ah, good times.

Teyla frowns a little. Is she judging me, or just trying to understand? It doesn't really matter, I suppose. (It does, though. For some reason, it does.)

"You were a thief?"

"Oh, please!" I sniff loudly, not having to feign my disgust. "Not *just* a thief. The best thief, smuggler and con artist the galaxy has ever seen! A mistress of my craft." I pause, drawing myself up dramatically, delivering my next words in a stage-whisper. "An *artist*. Anyway, I prefer the term 'free agent.'"

If she notices that I don't use the past tense, she doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, she gives me a long, searching look, like she's trying to understand, the smoothness of her brow marred by the tiniest of frowns.

I have the sudden, random urge to kiss the wrinkles away.

Well, maybe not so random. She *is* beautiful, after all.

"Did you never consider other options?"

Her tone says she's just asking a question, very carefully not accusing, or judging, or otherwise expressing disapproval.

Oh, she's good at this.

That's alright. I'm better.

I shrug. "By this point in my life, I had a very specific skill-set, a love of the finer things in life and a distinct problem with authority figures. What was I going to do? Find an honest job?"

And all of those should very much be present tense, not past. Although, I suppose I have mellowed a little on the third point, at least in some very specific cases.

Very, very specific cases.

I omit to mention the small detail of being on the run from those wanting to avenge Fierenze's inglorious death. Or those burning to take revenge on anyone they perceived as being part of the man's 'crew,' without stopping to hear 'excuses' like the fact that I had been kidnapped against my will.

Fierenze had a real talent for making enemies.

"How old were you then?"

Why is she so obsessed by age? Does it really matter? It's not like I magically become a different person at the turning of another year.

"I'm not sure," I hedge. "Mid-teens, maybe?"

Fourteen.

I was fourteen, and I had won my first real taste of freedom since being sold into servitude. There was no *way* I was going to give up even a sliver of it to anyone else.

Not for anything.

Not by choice.

"Anyway," I hurry on, before she can ask another question. "I did that for a while -- a decade, decade and a half, I guess -- and then ended up running across the Tau'ri." I grin, feeling a tension I hadn't even been aware of start to ease a little. "Funny story, actually. I stole one of their ships." My grin widens. "And one of their men. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the ship was attacked and the two of us had to work together to defeat the attackers." I lower my voice, as if confiding a secret. "I was actually rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I certainly seemed to impress Daniel, anyway."

Teyla raises her eyebrows.

"Daniel? Dr Daniel Jackson?"

"The very same," I confirm, beaming. "I didn't realise you knew each other."

"I would not say we know each other, precisely, but I have met him once." She looks at me like she doesn't quite know what to think. "So, what happened? Did he escape?"

"Let's just say that we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement and went our separate ways." Teyla doesn't need to know about the whole 'brig' incident. Daniel just got lucky, that's all. Caught me in a moment of weakness. Good job for him that he's far too cute -- and too useful -- for me to stay angry with for long. "But in our brief time together, Daniel had impressed me greatly with his, ah, cunning linguistic skills."

I smirk a little. If Teyla gets the wrong impression about how Daniel and I spent our time alone on the Prometheus, Well, that isn't my fault.

"So," I continue, "when I found myself in possession of a tablet bearing an inscription that was supposed to point the way to a fantastic treasure, I paid him a visit. That was the first of my many adventures with SG-1. To cut a long story short, they eventually asked me to join the team." I give a modest smile. "Well, begged, really. I just didn't have the heart to say no." I shrug. "And so here I am."

"But we are in the Pegasus galaxy," Teyla points out, annoyingly. "And the rest of your team is back in the Milky Way. Have you then parted ways?"

I roll my eyes. "Wandering soul, remember? I just fancied a change of scenery for a while. Atlantis seemed like a pretty interesting place from my previous -- albeit short -- visit, so I decided to give it a try. And now you know my story."

I'm bored of talking about myself now. Time to move on.

What to say, what to say?

Maybe I should try provoking her again...

"So, this is just a temporary sojourn?"

Of course she asks another question. Of course she does.

I start to laugh, the sound of it strange and out of place in this twisted, blasted landscape. I have to. What else can I do?

"Oh, Teyla, Teyla," I all-but purr, rolling her name around in my mouth as if I enjoy way it tastes on my tongue. "Don't you realise? Everything is temporary." I pause a moment, letting the word settle between us. Like a feather, like a stone. "*Everything."


	2. Chapter 2

"How long are they going to keep us waiting?" I ask Teyla, leaning in close to whisper the words in her ear. I wouldn't want my impatience to offend our gracious hosts, after all.

Okay, maybe that's not the only reason I lean in so close.

"As long as it takes to make the point that they are really far, far too important to meet with persons as lowly as ourselves and to impress upon us the magnitude of the honour we are being afforded." Her tone is dry, almost deadpan. I find myself startled into quiet laughter.

She doesn't smile, but I swear I see an answering twinkle in her eyes as she casts a sidelong glance my way.

So. Not without a certain sense of humour, then. That's good to know.

"What's so funny?" Sheppard asks, his voice a low rumble. He raises a suspicious eyebrow.

Yes, his eyebrows can convey suspicion. They're talented like that.

Teyla starts to answer him, but I override her.

"Girl talk," I say, sweetly. "Nothing a big, strong..." I look him up and down, slowly, making sure he notices. "*Manly* man like you would be interested in, I'm sure."

He looks at me like he's not sure whether to be offended or amused. Maybe even a little, dare I say it, flattered?

It's fun to keep people on their toes.

"Just making conversation," he says, rolling his eyes. "Forget I asked."

Teyla casts one of her stern looks my way (ooh, yes please) and turns to Sheppard. "I was simply explaining to Vala the likely reasons for our wait."

He frowns. "That's it?"

"It was the way she said it," I clarify, still smiling a little.

"I'll take your word for it," he mutters, giving me a strange look.

"What?!"

McKay's voice is loud, his sudden exclamation making all of us turn around to look at him. Apparently oblivious to the fact that he's now the centre of attention, he taps a few buttons on his handheld scanner, jiggling it a little as if that will make whatever provoked his outburst make more sense.

"McKay?" Sheppard asks. McKay doesn't even acknowledge him, much less respond. "Rodney?" Still no response. Sheppard sighs heavily, then reaches over and taps the other man on the shoulder. "Hey, *Meredith*. Wake up!

Meredith? Is that a pet name? I tuck it away for later use.

"Don't call me that!" McKay snaps, the response seeming to come automatically. Only then does he blink and look up, frowning. "Sheppard? What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" He turns back to the scanner.

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Sheppard sounds extremely long-suffering, like he's had to do this many a time before.

"No," McKay mutters, not even bothering to look up. "Busy now. Talk later."

"So, give us the Cliff's Notes version! And don't make me ask again."

Or what? I wonder.

"But- Oh, *fine*." Huffing impatiently, McKay glares at Sheppard. "The readings from the energy source just jumped in intensity. And started fluctuating."

"Is that bad?" Teyla asks, sounding concerned.

"I don't know! I don't even know what it *is* yet. This could be something perfectly normal. Or it could mean we're all doomed. I was going to wait until I had a little more data before saying anything, but *someone* was feeling nosy. And impatient." He glowers in Sheppard's direction again, as if to make absolutely, utterly certain that we know who he's talking about.

"Oh. Well. Carry on, then." Sheppard seems distinctly unfazed by McKay's ire. "Let us know if it turns out to be anything dangerous."

McKay rolls his eyes expressively. "No, I thought I'd just keep the information to myself."

"No need for sarcasm."

"Sheppard, when you're around there is *every* need for sarcasm. Now, be quiet and let me work!"

"Yes, *Sir*."

Sheppard sounds amused, but I see the glances he and Teyla exchange over McKay's bowed head, the silent communication. Teyla raises her eyebrows slightly. Asking Sheppard's opinion? Sheppard gives a small shrug, then makes a gesture with one hand, flicking his fingers up -- towards his face? his eyes? -- and then in the direction of the door. If I had to guess -- and I do, since I don't know this language, this intimate lexicon of gestures and expressions they share with each other -- I'd surmise he's saying he doesn't know, but we should stay alert and be ready to move if we have to. Teyla inclines her head in a shallow nod. Okay, no guesswork needed there.

An entire conversation without words.

I wonder how long they must have worked together, and how closely, to be able to read each other so well.

(And I definitely do not wonder what it would be like to know somebody that well, to have that level of... intimacy.)

(Though the thought of someone knowing *me* that well does send a shiver down my spine.)

Anyway, Sheppard's advice is good.

I do believe I will follow it.

 

* * * * *

 

I clear my throat loudly, breaking the silence, the awkwardness, that seems to have spun itself between Teyla and me.

Actually, my throat is very dry. I eye my canteen longingly, but I've already had my allotment for this hour. I know sucking on a pebble is supposed to help with the dryness but, frankly, ew. I'd rather just wait for my next drink. We're trying to conserve water, as we're not sure how far we are from a river or stream.

(Well, Teyla is 'not certain.' I don't have the first clue. Give me a ship, and I'll steer you true. Give me a city, and not only can I figure out the layout on my first visit, I can also pinpoint every fence and information broker in a twenty block radius. But give me the open countryside and my own two feet? Not so impressive, I'm afraid.)

"So," I begin.

"Yes?"

"Now that we're friends..."

She quirks an eyebrow. "It is good to make friends," she says, cautiously, which is less than the wholehearted acceptance I would like. On the other hand, it's not a denial. I'll take what I can get.

"It *is* good to make friends!" I start to nod enthusiastically, but the sudden spike of pain -- as opposed to the constant throbbing ache -- reminds me why that's a bad idea. I swallow a wince. "And friends share things with each other." I do my best to look earnest and winsome. "I think it's time we *shared*, Teyla."

(Okay, maybe I let my voice turn just a little bit sultry, adding just the tiniest hint of a purr there, but so what? Flirting is fun. I love to flirt. I find a little lively banter helps an arduous journey pass so much more pleasantly.)

(It would be even more pleasant if I could get her to flirt back.)

"What did you have in mind?"

(Oh, if she could only read my thoughts.)

"Well..." I think for a moment. "You've been with the Lanteans for a little while now, right?"

"Just over three years," she confirms.

"And you've gotten to know them pretty well?"

"Some of them, yes. Not all. The community is large enough now that it would be difficult to know every single one."

"I suppose so. But you're pretty close to your team, yes? And to Elizabeth?"

She inclines her head. "Aside from my fellow Athosians, those are the individuals I have spent the most time with." One corner of her mouth turns up in a wry smile. "And repeatedly saving one another's lives tends to foster a certain... closeness."

I start to nod again, then settle for gently inclining my head. "That's true." I think over the ties I've formed with the various members of SG-1. Yes, there's definitely something to be said for the effectiveness of a shared life-threatening experience as a method of forming solid team bonds. Pity about the downsides.

"So..." I say, drawing the word out, rolling it around on my tongue until she looks back at me with a faintly puzzled expression.

"What is it?"

"Have you, ah, gotten *close* with any of them?" I waggle my eyebrows suggestively. Well, I try to. Not being able to see my face, I'm not entirely certain of the actual effect, but I'm sure it's expressive.

"What?"

I think that's an expression of startlement rather than actual incomprehension. Nevertheless, I repeat the question more plainly.

"Have you had sex with any of them?"

She frowns. "I do not see how that is any of your business. Why do you even want to know that?"

"I'm trying to get to know you," I explain, patiently. "And the rest of your team, of course, but you're the one right here, talking to me."

All true actually. Of course, the reason why I'm choosing this line of questioning, rather than any other, is because it's fun.

I don't think I'm going to tell her that, however.

"I do not see how-"

"So, that was a yes, then?" I override her, grinning a little.

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't say no," I point out. "You actually didn't my question at all. In my experience, that generally means the answer is yes."

"No," she says, firmly.

I raise an eyebrow. "No, that isn't generally the case? Or no to-"

"No, I have not had sex with any of the Lanteans," she says, firmly.

"Oh." I study her thoughtfully. "Why not?"

"Because that is not the nature of my relationship with them. With any of them."

"But it could be."

"No, it could not."

"But why not? There are some attractive guys and gals there. Odds are good you'd be compatible with some of them, even if just on a purely physical level." A horrific thought flashes into my mind. "You haven't taken an oath of celibacy, have you?"

"No, not at all."

Oh, thank the gods. That would be *such* a waste.

"So, why-"

"It is *complicated*," she bursts out, frustration -- not necessarily *that* kind -- plain in her voice. This time, rather than prodding her further, I just wait. Being a con artist is at least half about knowing when and how to listen. And I get the impression that Teyla has something she wants (needs?) to say.

Seconds pass, lengthening into minutes. The only sounds are the endless trudge-trudge-trudge of our footsteps, the wind in the trees, and the countless small noises made by the wildlife going about their business.

It's funny. I've always thought of the countryside as quiet, but it isn't. Not really. It just has different noises to the city.

I guess I can see why some people might consider it restful, but I don't think that'll ever be me.

Teyla sighs heavily. This is it! I prick up my ears, not wanting to miss a word.

"It is complicated," she says softly, repeating her earlier words.

"What is?" I ask, just as softly.

"I am not just a member of SGA-1. I am also a leader of my people. That is not something I can afford to forget. As well as my missions for the Lanteans, I have another duty, another purpose. I have to take care of my people."

Okay. Not what I was expecting, but okay.

"And you think that indulging in a little physical recreation with the Lanteans would get in the way of that?"

Because, it's one thing to be a workaholic, but this...

"Not directly," she says. She frowns, hesitating for a moment or two, clearly choosing her words carefully. "It is just that... The Lanteans I am closest to, through no deliberate intent on my part, have status within the Expedition." I can really hear that capital-E. "Elizabeth is in overall charge. John is the chief military officer, Rodney the head scientist. They have influence. They can make things happen, or not happen. One way or another, they shape the overall Lantean policies and protocols for dealing with the Pegasus galaxy and its peoples. Including *my* people."

I frown.

"I... don't really see your point, I'm afraid."

A soft sigh escapes her lips. "Relationships, even those intended to be purely physical, can be messy things. If they go wrong, the emotional fallout can be considerable. People -- even good people -- can turn into festering knots of resentment and hostility towards their former lover. And if those people have the status, the influence, to indulge such hurt feelings... Well, anyone can be tempted." She shrugs. "Better not to take the risk."

"That's a really dark way to look at things," I say, slowly. "I may not know your team-mates all that well, but I don't think any of them would try to hurt your people because of a failed love affair. That's just so *petty*."

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat. "I am not explaining this at all well."

I shrug. "No, I think you're explaining it fine. You're just wrong."

She frowns. "I have my people to think of."

"You have yourself to think of." I move up beside her, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hear it seals up if you go without for long enough."

She shoots me a Look. "That is not true."

"I've never wanted to risk it," I shudder. "Anyway, orgasms are good for you. The Tau'ri have proven it. With science!"

"I did not say that I have gone without orgasms."

The dryness of her tone means it takes me a moment to register what she's just said.

"Oh. Well, that's good. Very good. A girl should take care of her needs." I smile encouragingly. "Why don't we compare techniques?" Teyla gives me an incredulous look. "Verbally, of course," I clarify. "Practical demonstrations are all well and good, but this is hardly the proper time and place, Teyla," I scold gently. "I'm surprised at you for suggesting such a thing."

Oh, if only I had a camera right now. The look on her face is really just priceless. I shall treasure the memory of it forevermore.

Of course, she regains her equanimity soon enough, even managing a wry smile.

"Of course. What was I thinking?" she asks, rhetorically. To my surprise, her smile broadens, and we spend a profitable few minutes comparing techniques.

Well.

And I really had been thinking she was actually something of a prude.

Just goes to show.

It's always the quiet ones.

 

* * * * *

 

"... blah blah blah honour, blah blah blah our peoples, blah blah blah alliance, blah blah blah trade, blah blah blah *blah*. Blah blah. Blah."

Okay, maybe those aren't *precisely* the chief priest-engineer-diplomat-whatever's actual words, but they might as well be. The man can *really* drone on. I swear he takes a positive, malicious delight in using three or four words when one would do, in expressing the same sentiment several different ways.

I guess he just really, really, *really* loves the sound of his own voice.

I have no idea how Teyla is managing to keep smiling, to nod in the right places, to even, gods help her, look *interested* in this blowhard's endless ramblings. It's as much as I can manage not to look actively bored, and I'm usually *very* good at showing people what they want to see.

McKay's still fiddling with his scanner, utterly oblivious to everything and everyone else in the room. As for Sheppard, he's playing the stoic military man to the hilt. Beyond the minimum required courtesies, he appears to be doing his best not to get drawn into the actual talking.

I guess there's a reason Teyla is the official diplomat of our merry band.

As far as I can tell, she seems to be making a pretty good impression on our hosts, but it remains to be seen how much of that will translate into trade advantages.

I let my attention wander a little, my gaze drifting idly around the room. Say what you like about the Amata, they certainly are gracious hosts. It's one of their better qualities, together with their truly *delightful* obsession with making their environment as luxurious and aesthetically pleasing as possible.

My kind of place.

Take this negotiation chamber, for example.

The carpet is so thick and so soft that treading upon it is like walking on clouds. The walls are hung with intricately woven tapestries, each one a work of art. (As well as providing additional insulation against this planet's cold, of course. Practical people, our hosts.) Graceful vaulted ceilings are supported by intricately carved pillars, no two alike.

And, my favourite part, the room is adorned with a number of little trinkets, ornaments and knickknacks. Not too many, of course, it's all rather tasteful, but they're all very pretty indeed.

I wonder if they'd miss one or two...

Without warning, McKay suddenly scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door. He doesn't say so much as a word to any of us, just makes a run for it. Well, he does mumble something incoherent to himself, but I'm not sure that counts.

The diplomat's endless droning falters and tapers off into blessed silence -- thank the gods for small mercies -- as we look in the direction of McKay's departure. Sheppard is the first one to shake off the surprise.

"I'll go see what crawled up his ass," he says, getting to his feet. "You continue on with the, uh." He gestures vaguely. "Negotiations." He disappears through the door.

The Amatan diplomat -- Master Wordsmith Bilal ben Rahman is his name, but I tend to think of him as Windbag ben Talksalot -- frowns after Sheppard for a moment, then turns back to Teyla with an expression of slightly offended concern.

"Is there a problem, Master Wordsmith Teyla?"

That's another thing about these people. They like their titles.

Teyla smiles, and it looks absolutely genuine. I'm quite impressed.

"My apologies, Master Wordsmith. My colleague can be rather single-minded in the pursuit of his craft, but I am certain he did not intend any discourtesy. I assume he has discovered something of pertinence to the energy source he has been tracking."

Clever. And technically true.

Which is the best kind of lie.

"Ah, I see," Talksalot says, his expression brightening. "In that case, no offense is taken. Being caught in the grip of a creative fervour is something I can well understand. I look forward to hearing his findings, later."

I kind of get the feeling that last point isn't up for negotiation.

It's going to be... interesting... watching McKay and Windbag talk science. Talk about battle of the egos.

Did I say interesting? I meant hilarious.

Teyla inclines her head graciously, a gesture that coincidentally hides her sudden look of alarm from the diplomat. I guess she doesn't find the thought nearly as amusing as I do.

As the negotiations restart, I can't help wondering what particular bee McKay's gotten in his bonnet this time. He ran out of here like someone had just lit a fire under his arse.

Now, there's an idea.

I eye Windbag speculatively, but decide that the brief satisfaction I'd gain from the act probably isn't worth the cost to my relationship with the Tau'ri.

I could make my excuses and head out after McKay and Sheppard... But I've probably left it too late to do so without calling undue attention to myself.

And I'm warm and comfortable where I am.

And there's still a chance I might be able to 'liberate some of these ornaments without anyone being any the wiser.

Anyway, whatever's gotten McKay so excited, I'm sure we'll hear all about it later.

 

* * * * *

 

"So," I say brightly. "Sheppard and McKay. How long have they been together?"

Maybe I should have have asked 'if', but that's so much more boring.

Teyla blinks at me, looking a little nonplussed. "As far as I know, they are not... together. Not romantically."

Yup, 'how long' was *definitely* the right question.

"So, it's just sex?" I ask, hoping to provoke that expression again.

Now she really does look thoroughly discombobulated, which, honestly, I have to count as a win. And it actually looks quite cute on her.

"That is not... I mean, I do not believe they are in a relationship of any kind, beyond being friends and team-mates."

"Really?" I let my eyebrows try to climb all the way up into my hairline, but I don't get a response this time. Too bad. Still, that does raise some interesting possibilities... I grin widely. "You know, we should give them a push. They'd be absolutely perfect for each other. Even better: we need to find out whether or not someone on Atlantis is running a book on if they'll get together. If not, we can start one. Trust me, we'll clean up."

Teyla looks at me for a moment, like she's trying to figure out whether I'm serious. I return her scrutiny with wide, guileless eyes.

I'm not sure it helps.

In the end, she shakes her head and turns her gaze back to our surroundings.

"I understand that the Lantean military has prohibitions about that sort of relationship."

Her tone seems disapproving, which makes me want to smile. I sigh instead. "I know. It's a stupid rule. Although, as far as I can tell, it doesn't actually *stop* such things happening. It just stops people talking about it." I'm quiet for a moment, then I do grin, skipping in front of Teyla and walking backwards so I can meet her eyes. "So, who would you pair each of them with?"

"I do not..." Her eyes flick away, and then back to me. She frowns. "I do not think this conversation is appropriate."

"What? Why? It's not like we have to actually act on it. Or even tell them. It's just a bit of fun. Look, I'll start. I think Sheppard would be good with..." I think about it for a moment. "Ronon."

"What? Why?" I wonder if Teyla realises she's echoing my question to her. "Why do you say that?" The expression on her face is one of horrified fascination, like she doesn't want to know, but she can't help asking the question.

Or, like she thinks she shouldn't be doing this, but she's tempted.

Well, I've never had a problem with leading people into temptation.

"They have a lot in common," I say, slowly, like the answer should be obvious. Deliberately, I leave it there, wanting to know whether she'll overcome her reluctance to ask for more information. (Surely it's not prudishness; not after our conversation earlier. But I suppose different peoples have all kinds of strange hang-ups, even contradictory ones. Especially contradictory ones. Although maybe I've been hanging around the Tau'ri too long.)

"Such as?"

Yes! A point to me.

"They're both warriors. They're both pretty macho guys." I grin at Teyla. "Macho is a Tau'ri word I came across recently. It means someone who is very, very manly. It's a good word. Macho. Macho. Maaaacho. Ahem." I give her a sheepish look. "Sorry. Got distracted. Where was I? Oh, right. They're both very competitive. They enjoy bodybuilding and training and all that physical stuff. Sheppard likes extreme sports, and I feel certain that Ronon would too if given the chance. See? They have common interests." 

"That may be true," she says, sounding dubious. "But I do not think that necessarily means they should embark upon a relationship. What of attraction? What of an emotional connection?"

I shrug. "They're both attractive men. And maybe it would just be a physical thing, sort of 'friends with benefits.' That's another Tau'ri phrase."

Teyla blinks, looking completely ruffled.

"You do not even know if they are attracted to men."

"But if they are, then I'm pretty sure they'd be attracted to each other. Anyway, they like sparring together, and it's only a short step from there to sex, so..."

"Sparring is *not* like sex!"

She is so sexy when she's flustered. I let my lips curl into a truly wicked smile, cocking my hip (ow, my ribs!) in her direction and giving her a saucy wink.

"Oh, Teyla," I purr, my voice low and sultry. "Then you're doing one or both of them wrong."

And... I seem to have rendered her speechless.

Victory!

Oh, it doesn't take long for her to put her mask back in place, but that's not the point. I *flustered* her, and we both know it.

I think I'm going to gloat a while.

After a long (okay, not that long) pause, Teyla finds her voice again.

"I do not think it is right to discuss my friends behind their backs in this manner."

"We can say it to their faces if you'd prefer," I offer.

Because... Oh, gods above and below, that would be *priceless*. Even the thought of it is almost enough to make me dissolve into laughter. It would have to be sometime when they're all gathered together, preferably with an audience. The mess hall, perhaps?

Yes, that could-

"Why do I have the feeling that you would do just that?" Teyla sighs, breaking into my thoughts.

"Because you're beginning to get to know me?"

"Perhaps." She takes a deep breath. (And I try not to look concerned about the way it hitches as it puts a strain on her injured stomach.) "In any case, let us press on. We still have a lot of ground to cover."

"I know," I sigh. "I know."

And, for some reason, I don't feel like laughing any more.

 

* * * * *

 

I wonder if it's possible for a person to actually be bored to death.

With the way Windbag is droning on, it's a question of more than merely academic interest to me right now. I wonder if there have been studies. McKay would know, if he was here.

Which he isn't.

And I take my hat off to him and Sheppard for engineering a way out of here. Laudable cunning, that. Now, if only I'd taken advantage of it when I had the chance.

Bit late now, though.

Maybe I could feign some kind of medical emergency.

I will say this for the man, though. He drives a hard bargain. Ruthless negotiator, that one, underneath the dull pomposity. Maybe it's all just a cunning ploy; a way of getting the people he's trading with to agree to anything if it means he will just stop *talking*.

No, on reflection, I think he really is that much of a bore.

No one is *that* good at maintaining a facade.

With the exception of yours truly, of course.

Luckily, Teyla also seems to be a mistress of her craft, and is driving a hard bargain or two of her own. Quite impressive, really. I mean, I'm better, of course, but credit where credit's due. She has the makings of a fairly passable free agent in her.

If it wasn't for those pesky limitations of hers in the morality department.

Still, limitations can be overcome. With the proper motivation.

I wonder how I might tempt you, Teyla Emmagan...

Hello, what's going on out there?

I can hear a commotion somewhere else in the building; raised voices, running feet.

Sounds like... trouble.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a woman rushes in as if all the hounds of hell are snapping at her heels. She's wearing the badge of a Junior Tester -- equivalent to a low-level acolyte, or similar, if I understand their hierarchy correctly -- and her expression is a mixture of horror and trepidation.

I'm... guessing she drew the short straw here. Interrupting the lord high muckety-muck here to deliver bad news? Yeah, *that*'s going to do wonders for her future prospects. Anyone with any kind of standing at all is going to delegate such shenanigans to someone who doesn't have the standing to refuse.

(Because it just *has* to be bad news. It always is. And things have been going much, much too smoothly up until now. I guess the other shoe had to drop sometime. Honestly, it's almost a relief that it finally has.)

I suppose some things really are universal.

Poor girl. I actually feel a little sorry for her. Well, almost.

I sit up a little straighter on the divan, watching with interest as she almost falls over herself bowing to Windbag.

"Master Wordsmith," she says, gasping out the words. "A thousand thousand apologies for the interruption, but I have urgent news."

Frowning like a thundercloud, he beckons her to approach. She scrambles to her feet and scurries over to whisper in his ear. Which is just plain *rude* if you ask me. I mean, Teyla and I are sitting right here. The rules of courtesy say they should have this conversation out loud. Or they should step out of the room so we have the privacy to eavesdrop.

Honestly, some people have no manners at all.

I strain my ears, trying to hear what she's saying. Unfortunately, I can only make out the odd word or two.

Off-worlders. Trespassed. Shrine. Artifacts. Perfecti.

Blasphemy.

Uh-oh. That's... not good. If there's one thing guaranteed to make a group of people act irrationally, it's messing with their religious taboos.

Believe me, I know.

Keeping my expression blandly pleasant, I shift my weight ever-so-slightly so I can get to my weapons a little easier. We're officially unarmed for the negotiations, of course, which means I only have my concealed load-out.

I mean, I'm not *stupid*. I don't care how supposedly 'friendly' the natives are, there's no way I'm going *anywhere* unarmed. I don't even go to the bathroom without, at the bare minimum, my knives and a holdout pistol.

It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

And it's situations like this that prove my... reasonable caution... is justified.

Luckily, I've already figured out several different ways of getting out of here. I can totally take the guards, and even if they prove more of a challenge than anticipated, Windbag here will make a great hostage.

So. With the escape plan sorted, the biggest difficulty is figuring out when to put it into motion.

It's all about the timing, you see.

Too soon, and you risk escalating a situation you might have been able to talk yourself out of. And once you escalate to fisticuffs -- or zat fire, or knives, or P90s -- it's really hard to step it back down a notch. Not impossible, if you're good enough, but really, *really* hard.

Of course, sometimes if you don't draw first, you don't get to draw at all. And it's always much easier to escape when they don't see you coming.

In this situation right here, though, we're probably better off waiting a little longer before proceeding with Operation: Run Like Hell.

And I *really* want to find out what's going on before we do anything irrevocable.

Luckily, I think Windbag is about to tell us.

The minion, apparently having delivered her message, steps back and to the side little, bowing her head and clasping her hands. The whole 'most humble and patient servant' pose is marred a little by the way her hands tremble, and by the way she keeps sneaking nervous glances at Teyla and I from beneath the hood of her robe. Windbag doesn't notice. All of his attention is now focused squarely on the two of us.

Well.

This should be interesting.

 

* * * * *

 

"How are you holding up?" I study Teyla covertly, concerned about the slight hitch in her step, the way her breath has started rasping a little every now and then.

"Well enough, thank you," she says, her voice more level than I would have expected, especially given the slightly glazed look in her eyes. "How about yourself?"

"Surviving." I shrug. "I mean, my hair is a bird's nest, I have grit in places I'd really rather not think about and I'm in serious need of a manicure, but it could be worse. At least we're alive."

"Indeed," she murmurs.

I grin. "Say that again," I say.

She glances over at me. "Excuse me?"

"No, not excuse me. Indeed."

She opens her mouth as if to speak, perhaps to ask a question, but then sighs and shakes her head. "Indeed," she says, obligingly.

"Hmm. No, no. Try a little deeper. More monotone. More emphasis on the second syllable. In*deed*. There. Now you try."

"Vala, what is this about?"

"Just an experiment."

"But to what end?"

"Just humour me, please." I smile encouragingly. "In*deed*."

I make a bet with myself about whether or not she'll indulge me. Honestly, it could go either way.

She rolls her eyes at me and then smiles indulgently.

"In*deed*."

I sigh.

"Hmm. Maybe not. Thanks, Teyla."

I hum quietly to myself.

"Well?" she asks, a few moments later. "What was that for?"

I shrug, and then regret the motion.

"I have a friend, back in SG-1. A non-Tau'ri. The other non-Tau'ri member of SG-1, in fact. He has a very particular way of saying the word indeed. It's kind of his thing. For a moment there, you kind of reminded me a little of him. Well, a couple of octaves higher, of course. Teal'c has a *very* deep voice."

Teyla looks over at me thoughtfully.

"Will you tell me about him?"

I note the sudden focus in her eyes, the spark of interest overcoming the exhaustion and injury-induced dullness, at least temporarily.

Oh well. If it'll keep her focused, I can't see the harm in sharing a little intergalactic gossip.

"Certainly." I consider for a moment. How to begin... "Teal'c has been a member of SG-1 since the beginning. Sometimes I think he's gone native. Certainly, he's helped me figure out some of their stranger customs. Of course, some things are still baffling even when the two of us put our heads together, but that's how it goes with provincial alien cultures, right?"

"Just so," she murmurs, sympathetically.

"Teal'c is a man of few words. I think he prefers to let his actions speak for him." Boy, does he. I let a fond smile curve my lips as I flick back through my memories, recalling some of the more striking examples. "He'll always be Muscles to me."

I sigh dramatically, running my hands up and down an imaginary, well-oiled chest. I sneak a peek at Teyla beneath my eyelashes, curious about her reaction.

She seems amused. And possibly not sure how serious I'm being.

It's always good to keep them guessing.

"He is physically skilled, then?" she asks, mildly.

"You could say that," I drawl. A little more seriously, I add: "He's also one of the leaders of his people." Hmm. Maybe a little too serious. "It's a little project he's been working on in between babysitting SG-1. As if that isn't a full-time task all by itself. And *I* should know. Every time they step through a chappa'ai they get themselves in trouble, and that's *with* my help. I shudder to think what mischief they're getting up to without me. Poor, poor Teal'c." A thought occurs to me. "You know, you remind me of him, a little."

"I do?" she asks, her expression curious. "How so?"

"Well... you know. Non-Tau'ri members of a Stargate team. The whole 'leader of your people' thing. Not to mention how you manage to keep a calm face during all their antics. How do you do it? I've tried asking Teal'c, but he won't tell me." I pout a little, then turn on a winning smile. "But you'll tell me, won't you? On account of how we're such good friends now? What's your secret?"

"You think I am composed?"

Is she joking? I give her a puzzled look, but take her question at face value.

"Yes, of course you are. During this mission alone we've been in situations that would have left most people more than a little discombobulated. But you just soldier on, completely unfazed. Half the time, you already seem to have a plan in mind. So, how do you do it?"

Abruptly, unexpectedly, Teyla starts to laugh. I stare at her, confused, as she throws her head back and gives voice to her sheer, unfettered amusement. She has a nice laugh, melodic and sweet. It's difficult not to join in, but I resist the urge, waiting for her to let me in on the joke.

I wait.

And wait.

After just long enough that I'm starting to worry about things like hysteria and shock, she finally stops laughing. Wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, she looks at me with an expression I can't quite identify.

"Let me tell you a story, Vala."

"Okay," I say, cautiously.

"There once was a young girl who became the leader of her people long before she felt that she was ready. Truth to tell, she did not think that she would ever be ready for such a heavy responsibility. And yet, she was expected to make decisions that affected lives, often based on information that was woefully incomplete. She was expected to trade with other worlds, obtaining the things her people needed without impoverishing them, but also while not gaining a reputation for trading unfairly. Her people were depending on her. She knew that she could not let them down."

I turn that over in my mind, trying to reconcile the image of that unready young girl with the confident woman standing before me.

I'm not sure I can, not completely. And yet...

And yet.

(I want to change the subject. I want to turn away, to not see this vulnerability she's choosing to show me.)

(I want to.)

(But I can't.)

"So, what did she -- you -- do?"

"I realised that what my people needed from me, above all else, was confidence. They needed to believe that I had the answers, or at the very least that I was able to obtain them." She smiles, shrugging one shoulder. "So I learned how to show them what they needed to see." Her smile turns wry. "It is surprising how often adopting an expression of wise inscrutability will prompt a group of people to not only come up with a solution to a problem, but to convince themselves that it came from you."

It's true. Act like you know what you're doing, and people will start to believe it. At least until and unless they prove otherwise.

"The human mind is remarkable thing," I agree.

"Indeed." We both share a smile at that. "I made mistakes along the way, of course," she adds, and I nod sympathetically. "But I learned from them. And somewhere along the way, the facade became... real."

"Fake it 'till you make it," I say softly. "Another Tau'ri proverb," I add, in answer to Teyla's enquiring expression. "I collect them. It's something of a hobby of mine."

"It seems apposite." She sighs. "Sometimes, I worry that I am still... faking it," she confides, softly. "When the Wraith came; when my people had to flee their homeworld... It hasn't been easy." She looks up, meeting my gaze, her voice suddenly stronger. "Working with an alien people, trying to make a place among them, despite our differences. It is... difficult, sometimes." Her gaze sharpens. "As I believe you know."

I shrug.

"I suppose so," I say, carelessly. "They can be strange, sometimes. You think you're talking about the same thing and then bam! You run smack bang into an unexpected cultural divide." I shrug again. "It takes time, I guess."

Teyla studies me for a moment, her thoughtful expression making my stomach twist uneasily.

"What is your place among the Tau'ri?"

I frown.

"What do you mean? I'm a member of SG-1, currently on sabbatical. Fairly straightforward, really."

"Yes, but why are you with them? Do you represent a group they are allied with? Or do you share a common enemy?"

I don't like where this is going.

"No group, just me." I let my tone turn brusque and clipped, the better to shut this line of questioning down. "Anyway, speaking of common enemies, how are your injuries?"

She pauses just long enough that I almost think she isn't going to follow my segue (not my most subtle, I admit, but you work with what you have), but in the end she answers my question.

"They have not noticeably worsened. I will examine them properly when we stop for the night."

Did I say answers? I mean evades.

But she isn't pressing me on the other subject, so I'll return the favour.

For the moment.

But once we make camp for the night...

Actually.

I glance up at the sky -- what little of it is visible through the leaves -- confirming what I've been subconsciously noticing for a little while.

"It looks like it's starting to get dark now. I think it's time to look for somewhere to make camp for the night." I grimace. "I do not want to try to make my way through this obstacle course in the dark."

"Agreed," says Teyla. "Let us look for somewhere defensible."

We trudge onwards, keeping our eyes peeled.

Metaphorically, anyway.

Urgh. That phrase gives me the shivers. I really wish I hadn't thought about it.

Quick, think of something else.

I wonder what kind of wildlife scuttles around this forest at night. And I wonder how much of it is carnivorous.

No, bad thought. Bad thought.

Something else. Anything else.

(Adria.)

Almost anything else.

Hello.

Is that...? Could it be...?

"Teyla," I hiss. I'm not sure why I'm whispering, but I do anyway. "What's that over there?"


	3. Chapter 3

"How could they do this?"

Teyla's voice is low and tight, her words a barely audible muttering as she paces back and forth across the common room of our suite.

Yes: our suite.

Believe it or not, we're actually still guests, rather than prisoners. And I do mean actual guests, not just technical ones.

That little miracle is the result of Teyla's quick thinking, faster talking and, apparently, sterling reputation for honesty and fair-trading.

(I could have done my own fast-talking, of course, but I decided to defer to her native expertise. After all, she actually knows these people. Better to keep me and my skills in reserve for when the faecal matter *really* impacts the spinning air circulator.)

It's funny. This place is no less richly appointed than it was before, no more secure. Bars haven't suddenly appeared on the windows. Hell, they haven't even locked us in.

But, somehow, I can't shake the feeling of being caged.

(It's like an itch beneath my skin, like sparks of electricity prickling across my scalp, making my hair stand right up on end. Like a sound that's just too low to hear, but that nonetheless sets my teeth on edge. I can feel the tension coiling within me, twisting my guts, clawing at my chest, driving me to act. Driving me to try to break free.)

(No.)

(It's fine. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm not trapped here.)

(I can leave any time I want to.)

(Pause. Breathe. *Breathe*.)

(Better.)

I focus on Teyla, studying her as she prowls back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can't help admiring the lithe grace of her movements; all that leashed energy.

I wonder if she ever lets it loose.

I'm pretty sure her question was rhetorical, but I answer it anyway.

"At a guess? McKay tracked down his mysterious energy source and decided to go poke at it. Either he didn't realise he was intruding on a holy shrine, or he didn't care."

She shoots me a dark glance. "With McKay, either is possible."

That certainly fits the impression I've formed of the man so far.

"As for Sheppard..." I shrug. "Maybe he just wasn't in time to stop McKay." But I don't really believe that, and from the expression on Teyla's face neither does she. "Or McKay convinced him that the risk was worth the potential benefit."

I wonder what it was that McKay thought he'd found.

I wonder what treasures the Amata may have hidden amongst their so-called 'Artifacts of the Perfecti'.

I wonder how easy it would be to get in there and take a look.

Of course, it would have been much easier if Sheppard and McKay hadn't just blundered in and gotten themselves caught. Awfully inconsiderate of them to put our hosts on their guard like that.

Good job I like a challenge.

Teyla clicks her tongue against her teeth in what I suspect is the equivalent of someone else -- someone less reserved -- yelling loudly in frustrated annoyance.

"I wish that they had consulted with me before simply rushing in," she says, shaking her head. "The Amata are not unreasonable people. It is possible I would have been able to negotiate for access to whatever it was that McKay wished to study."

I raise my eyebrows.

"Even one of their holy relics?"

"Even so. The Amata revere creators, and McKay, for all his... qualities... is undeniably skilled with technology. I could have used that to persuade them that he walks in the footsteps of the Perfecti, that he has been touched by the grace of the Great Maker. Such a person may well have been able to gain access to the shrines. With our hosts' blessing." She sighs softly. "If he had only told me that he wished it."

I consider her words for a moment. Playing into the Amata's beliefs to persuade them to let us do what we want?

It's a tactic I've used before, and it's a tactic I'll doubtless use again.

I look at Teyla with a new respect. I'd thought she was such a straight arrow, but this shows actual cunning. Maybe there's hope for her yet.

I can't help noticing that, for all of Teyla's complaints about the boys' actions -- and she's much more restrained about it than I would have been if I was the one whose negotiations had been scuppered this way -- she's not showing the slightest trace of surprise.

"So," I begin, delicately. "Have McKay and Sheppard done this kind of thing before?"

The look she shoots my way speaks volumes.

"It is not the first time that they have taken action without consulting me," she says, with a degree of acceptance that I can only wonder at.

Or maybe take advantage of, in the future.

But that's a line of thinking for a later date.

"Impulsive, are they?"

Because I can sympathise with that, I suppose. Not that I'm going to tell Teyla that. I have the feeling it would put the kibosh on this little rapport we've got going on. Non-Tau'ri girls together, and all that.

"Sheppard once shared with me a Lantean phrase: 'it is better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission.' Let us simply say that such a philosophy quite often seems to govern their actions."

Hmm. Actually, I really like that philosophy. And it, ah, seems not entirely inapplicable to my usual mode of operation.

Okay, maybe it's entirely applicable.

Again, probably best not to admit that, though.

"It must make things difficult for you sometimes," I say, neutrally.

See? I can be diplomatic too! When I want to be.

Teyla stops pacing and sighs softly, her shoulders seeming to slump a little. She flashes me a brief, wry smile.

"I am the one who often ends up seeking forgiveness on their behalf," she says.

I nod sympathetically. "I can see how *that* would get old fast."

"As you say."

She sits down on one of the overstuffed armchairs, perching on the edge rather than sinking into its decadent softness. I think that neutral comment is all she's going to say on the matter, but she makes a frustrated noise in her throat -- somewhere between a huff and a growl -- and pins me with her gaze.

"But it is more than that," she continues. The words seem to emerge reluctantly, and I wonder if this is the first time she's even given voice to them. (And, if so, why she's chosen to confide in me.) "I negotiate on the behalf of the Lantean settlement, and I do so in good faith. But it is... difficult sometimes. Because I know that, no matter how much they trust me -- and I do not doubt their trust -- if they see an opportunity to act in what they perceive as the Lanteans' best interests, then like as not they will simply take it. Regardless of how it might undermine everything I have been working towards on their behalf." She blows out a breath in what's not quite a sigh. "It is sometimes... frustrating."

"It would piss me right the hell off," I say, lightly.

(Well, it would. Anyway, when I act impulsively, I always have good reasons. And there aren't any negotiations on *my* behalf to undermine. Usually.)

"Hmmm," is all Teyla says in response, but there's a spark of something in her gaze that I'm pretty sure is amusement. Maybe she even untenses a little.

"We need to go and talk to the boys," I say.

"Yes," she agrees. "We need more information. I have been considering how best to achieve this."

I raise an eyebrow. "Will the Amata try to stop us talking to them?"

"I do not think so, but they are unlikely to allow us an unsupervised visit." She sighs. "I think it would be best if we could achieve at least a modicum of privacy for our discussion."

Ah. Now we come to one of my many areas of expertise.

"Want me to run interference?" I ask.

Teyla cocks her head quizzically. "Run interference?" she echoes.

"Cause a distraction," I clarify. "Keep their attention on me so you can have a quiet word with the jailbirds."

She looks distinctly wary. "Will this involve... explosions?"

I throw my hands up in the air. "That wasn't my fault! The label said 'fireworks.' It was only supposed to be a bit of smoke and noise. Honestly, you make one little boom and people never let you live it down. Anyway, it all worked out for the best in the end." I frown at her. "Who's been spreading such vicious rumours about me?"

Bloody Tau'ri gossip mongers. I bet it's Cameron's fault. He probably told someone who told someone who told someone else, and the next thing you know all of Atlantis knows that Vala Mal Doran blows things up.

I mean, there are worse reputations to have, but still.

Not happy.

Teyla twitches one shoulder in a minute shrug. "I do not remember."

I bet she does, but I suppose we have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment. Later, though, all bets are off.

"Anyway," I say. "Returning to the subject at hand: there won't be any explosions." At least, no intentional ones. "I was just going to talk to the guards, that's all. Keep them occupied so they can't eavesdrop. Nothing overly complicated."

She considers for a moment. "That should suffice," she says. She still sounds a little dubious, but she gets smoothly to her feet and heads purposefully over to the door. "Shall we?"

"Let's," I say, following along after her.

After all, there's no time like the present.

 

* * * * *

 

Finally!

It's about time something went our way.

I glance around the main room of the two-room hut (the second room being a tiny bathroom). Thick stone walls to keep the night and cold at bay. Tiny windows to let the light in -- when there is any -- without letting out too much heat. Sturdy. Practical. And yet, as with so many things of the Amata: beautiful.

The walls are adorned with carved designs and the windows are stained glass. Best of all, to my mind, though, one wall features a large fireplace, leading a chimney so well-designed there was barely any debris to clear before -- oh joy of joys -- we could use it for its intended purpose.

Blessed heat!

I stretch my hands out to the merrily dancing flames, delighting in the warmth.

Ah, bliss.

I mean, don't get me wrong, this place could certainly do with a *few* modern conveniences. Like electricity. And a proper piped water supply, rather than a rainwater trap. And sprung mattresses. Preferably not full of who knows how many decades' worth (centuries' worth?) of dust.

But still.

It's far, far better than bedding down in the open air without any way of keeping out all that... nature. There's even a primitive shower. It's just a water tank connected to a pipe with holes in it, but it's better than nothing. There's even a boiler to heat the water, and words cannot describe how glorious the thought of that is right now.

Oh, and to have a lavatory with an actual *seat*. Even though it empties into a slurry pit, rather than using the magic of plumbing, it certainly beats squatting in the woods like some animal.

I'll take what I can get.

"Enjoying the fire?"

Teyla sounds amused. I don't care. Let her be amused. I'm going to revel in the simple pleasure of not being cold.

"Very much," I breathe. "I guess it was worth the effort of gathering all that firewood after all." I glance up at her. "Even if it would have been fun making our own warmth."

She rolls her eyes at me. She *actually* rolls her eyes at me.

The nerve!

(But I can sense that there's a certain amount of fondness in the gesture. I'm growing on her, I can tell.)

All she says, though, is: "I'm glad you approve."

Yes, well.

I stand up carefully, suppressing a groan as my battered body complains at the movement. Between the crash, the hike, gathering firewood and clearing out the dust (and spiders! so... many... spiders...) of who knows how long this place has been abandoned, I have to admit I'm feeling a little worse for wear. Not that I'd ever dream of complaining, of course.

I never complain. (Despite Daniel's rather unkind claims to the contrary. And Cameron's. And Jack's.) I think that's one of my better qualities.

(Anyway, I have the horrible feeling that Teyla's worse off than I am.)

To distract myself from my aches and pains (and concern for her condition), I lean over to peer at the inscription Teyla is studying, squinting a little in the dim light of the fire. The eye-level panel stretches almost the whole breadth of the chimney, surrounded by an elegant raised border. The Amatan script -- also elegant -- flows across it in neat lines.

I may not be able to understand any of it, but it certainly is pretty.

"Have you been able to make sense of it?" I ask.

"More or less," Teyla answers. "It is an old dialect, but I can understand enough to get the gist."

"Well?" I prompt. "Don't leave me in suspense."

She raises an eyebrow at me. "I was about to tell you, before you interrupted me." I mime sealing my lips, gesturing for her to continue. She does so. "This is a traveller’s waystation, built sometime before the Wraith came."

"We figured *that* much out already," I can't help pointing out. "There used to be a road through here, way back when. Before the forest ate it. There's a marker right outside. You said-" She's looking askance at me again. "What are you pulling that face for?"

"I-" She stops, sighs, and shakes her head. Whatever she was about to say, she's clearly decided not to say it. (You know, I think my initial impression may have been incorrect. She's actually *far* more expressive than Teal'c. I approve.) "The inscription is actually in two parts. The first was carved at the time of construction, and is a simple welcome to travellers, inviting them to freely make use of this waystation. There is also a polite admonition to leave the place clean and tidy, and to ensure that the door is closed firmly upon departure."

"That seems reasonable."

"Indeed." She smiles suddenly, no doubt recalling our earlier conversation. I smile back. "I suspect that such inscriptions were a standard feature of all Amatan waystations," she continues. "It also bears a the name of the person who designed it and oversaw its construction: Master Architect Rashida Nassar."

From the significant look she casts my way, I'm guessing that's supposed to mean something to me. I rack my brains.

"That name sounds familiar," I venture.

Teyla nods. "She is thought to have played a significant role in designing the original town that stood on the site of what is now the Amata's main settlement. I believe her name was mentioned during the guided tour. The Amata consider her to be one of their Great Builders. The second part of the inscription marks the occasion of her being named to the ranks of the Perfecti."

"I see." I nod sagely. "So, refresh my memory. The Perfecti are their... saints?"

"Not precisely." She takes a moment to consider her words before continuing. I take the opportunity to admire the way the firelight turns her skin to burnished copper and her hair to spun gold. It's a good look for her. "The Amata believe that it is impossible to achieve true perfection in this life, that it can only be attained once freed from the limitations of the physical realm."

I blink.

"Does that mean Ascension?"

Teyla shrugs. "Perhaps. Or perhaps they are referring to the realm beyond death. In any event, even if absolute perfection is unreachable by mere mortals, someone who is talented enough, dedicated enough, pure enough, may be able to achieve the next best thing. Such individuals are thought to be closer to the Great Maker, to be vessels for the divine fire of creation."

"The Perfecti," I murmur.

"Precisely. They are not objects of worship in their own right. Nor are they asked to act as intercessors with the higher power. Rather, the Perfecti are held up as examples, their lives and works meant to inspire the masses to strive towards mastery of their own craft."

"I see." And I do, I think. I turn the concept over in my mind, considering the questions that it raises. "So, the priests -- sorry, Testers -- are the ones who get to name someone a Perfecti?"

"Yes. I am given to understand that the title tends to be awarded posthumously. There have been exceptions to this, but they are most rare."

I almost ask what the point of that is, but swallow the question back unspoken. Some people are funny about death, and legacies, and other such nonsense. Maybe Teyla's one of them. It wouldn't do to alienate her now, not when we're getting so close.

Another thought occurs to me.

"Does this mean we're standing in a shrine?" I wonder aloud.

Teyla gives me a small smile.

"I suppose so," she replies. "Although I think it is still intended to be used for its original purpose."

"Good," I say, firmly. "Because I tell you now, I am *not* sleeping under the stars when I have the option of a roof over my head." Teyla is sending a distinctly amused look my way. I answer it with a frown. "What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she says quickly. Too quickly. "It is just... Next to Rodney, your views on the 'great outdoors' are the strongest I have ever heard expressed."

I snort.

"It's just not sanitary!" I fling my hands in the air to show my bemusement. "All that dirt. All those crawling things. Who knows what kind of plant emanations floating on the air. Why anyone would choose that over the comfort of a feather bed and a secure door I do not know."

Abandoning all attempt at trying to contain her mirth, Teyla gives in and laughs out loud.

"If you want to make a friend of Rodney, I suggest you tell him how you feel when next the opportunity arises. I believe he will be most gratified that someone shares his opinion."

Her smile suddenly wilts a little, and I know what she's thinking because I'm thinking it too.

What's happening back in the town? Will McKay and Sheppard be made to pay for our actions?

Will we even make it back there at all?

Quick, think of something to say; lift the darkness before it settles around us like a lead-lined cloak.

"What if I want to make a friend of you?"

In my head, that sounded light, whimsical, playful. When the words come out of my mouth, however, they're... soft. Uncertain.

(Maybe even hesitant.)

I blame the concussion.

Teyla's eyes widen, just a fraction, and then her clouded expression brightens again.

"We are already friends, Vala. Do you not remember? You said so yourself?"

(Oh.)

I grin back at her.

"Just checking you hadn't forgotten."

(We're friends?)

(We're friends.)

She suddenly looks serious again, turning more fully to face me and placing her hand lightly on my arm.

"I am sorry for prying, earlier," she says softly. "It was not my intent to make you uncomfortable."

Prying?

Oh. She must mean when she asked why I'm not currently with SG-1.

Well... Oh.

"It's alright."

What else can I say? It seems to be the right thing, though, because she leans in and touches her forehead to mine, lightly, just like she did earlier.

Must be an Athosian custom.

As soon as she breaks the contact, I take a step back.

"The water must be ready now," I say brightly. "I'll just check on the boiler."

Turning away, I stride purposefully across the room and do just that.

(And any tightness in my chest is just from the sudden movement, from the strain of it on my bruised ribs.)

(Nothing else.)

(Nothing else at all.)

(Because Vala Mal Doran does not get sentimental.)

 

* * * * *

 

The guards are called Jaran, Mina and... and... Paul? They have surnames too, but those aren't important, so I don't bother remembering them. They're supposed to be keeping a close eye on Teyla as she speaks with 'the prisoners.' And, no doubt, reporting every word back to the people in charge.

I'm giving them something a little more interesting to focus on.

Despite Teyla's reassurances, I was expecting that we wouldn't be allowed to see Sheppard and McKay. Not that that would stop us, of course. We'd just have to get a little more... creative.

But, no.

The powers that be actually seem to be acting relatively -- what's the word? -- reasonably.

I don't trust it. No one's *that* reasonable in the face of what they consider blasphemy. They're probably just trying to lull us into a false sense of security so they can offer us up as sacrifices to their gods.

Not that they have gods, as such. If I understood Teyla's explanation correctly. In fact, they seem quite insistent that they don't actually *worship* their so-called 'Great Maker'. Not sure I buy that, though. I mean: shrines, rituals, blessings, swearing by its many names...

That certainly sounds like worship to me.

Never mind.

But I *am* going to say 'I told you so' when we end up chained before an altar while a crazed priest brandishes a ritual blade in our direction.

Ah, memories.

But anyway, back to the present.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk as I give Jaran a flirtatious look. Not to mention a rather nice view of my cleavage.

"If I said you have a gorgeous body," I murmur, my voice low and sultry. "Would you hold it against me?"

After the expected glance downwards -- well, he's only human, and my breasts *are* rather attractive -- Jaran throws his head back and laughs uproariously.

"And that actually worked?" he asks, the question equal parts amusement and disbelief.

I shrug, no doubt doing very interesting things to his view. Certainly, his gaze flickers downwards again before he wills it back up to meet my eyes. I have to give him points for willpower. If I was in his position I'm not sure I could resist the lure of such a display.

Still, I respect him for his efforts, even as I appreciate the evidence that he finds me attractive.

"It certainly did," I say in answer to his question. "Of course," I add, fluttering my eyelashes a little. "He wasn't nearly as intelligent and perceptive as you are."

"Flattery now?" He chuckles a little. "I can see that you're a woman of many talents, Ms Mal Doran."

"Oh, call me Vala, please. And I should certainly hope so!"

We continue to flirt, Jaran and I, and I'm pleasantly surprised to learn that he's actually not all that bad at it. He has a clever way with words when he puts his mind to it. Not what I would have expected in a prison guard. I suppose he's a cut above the ones I usually end up interacting with.

Not that I make a habit of socialising with prison guards, you understand. It's just that the occasional encounter here and there can be a hazard of the 'free agent' lifestyle.

And they're not all the same, you know. I mean, it's commonly thought that anyone who chooses a profession that involves keeping people locked up is likely to be a brutish thug with control freak tendencies, but that simply isn't always the case. In the majority of cases, certainly, but on very rare occasions, you do come across one who isn't. One who believes in ridiculous notions like penal codes and the rule of law and in actually, well, just doing their job. Without taking sadistic pleasure in it.

I mean, a person might come across one. Any hypothetical person, not necessarily myself. It's not like I make a habit of getting myself incarcerated or anything. (It just happens.) It's just... necessary, sometimes.

Anyway, even towards the thug end of the spectrum, there isn't just one optimum method of manipulating them. Some respond to best to flirting, some to threats (especially if you can convince them you're tight with the local crime lord or warlord or whoever the local power is), some to bribery... The list goes on.

The trick is to figure out the right way for your particular example as quickly as you can. Preferably before you get locked up.

Take Jaran, for example. Any fool could see that he was bored, that he was surprisingly well-disposed towards us (even though two of our number were accused of committing blasphemy), that he had a sense of humour, and that he had a fondness for space pirates.

Okay, the last one was a bit of a leap, but you can tell a lot about a person by their reading material.

I took a bit of a chance, and started waxing nostalgic about other times that team-mates of mine have run afoul of, ah, cultural misunderstandings.

I did take care to stress that it was a completely different group of people I was talking about. I certainly wouldn't want to give the impression that McKay and Sheppard are in the habit of going tromping around willy-nilly through shrines and putting their sticky fingers all over holy artefacts.

(Although, from my earlier conversation with Teyla, I have the feeling that such an impression wouldn't be wholly inaccurate.)

I swear Jaran's face lit right up.

He seems particularly amused by tales of how I've charmed, blindsided and otherwise outwitted various guards and officers of the law over the years. That probably says something deep and meaningful about him but, honestly, I really don't care. I just care that it seems to be working.

And conversing with him isn't especially onerous. He's not exactly unarmed for a battle of wits (no match for me, of course, but who is?) and he may not exactly be handsome, but there's a certain quirky charm to his features. (Plus, you know, guard, so... fit.) And he has a nice smile.

As a distraction, however, it's not working as well as I'd hoped.

Oh, Jaran is more than willing to flirt with me, but not to the point of neglecting his duties. He's still keeping a careful eye on Teyla and the prisoners, still making sure to keep enough distance between us that I can't just knock him over the head without him having the chance to react. (Not that I was planning to, but it's good to have options.)

He even searched Teyla and I before letting us past!

Well, he had Mina do it. He said it wasn't appropriate for him to search ladies. He actually called us ladies!

You know, I think I could get to like this guy.

He actually sent for Mina specially. Well, not by name. He just asked for a female guard. And of course he didn't abandon his post to do so, or send the other guard. No, he sent a runner.

Oh yes. They have a minimum two guards and a runner on duty at the jail at all times, to be increased as necessary. This place only has a handful of cells. It's just a temporary holding facility at the local Justicars' station. I dread to think what precautions their actual prisons have.

It's like they take this seriously or something.

Anyway. So there are currently three guards on duty (plus the runner, who I strongly suspect can also handle himself in a fight), which is probably why Jaran feels confident enough to relax a little and chat with me.

(His confidence is misplaced, of course. Mina hardly found any of my concealed weapons, and I'm pretty sure that Teyla *is* a walking weapon. So if we really wanted to stage a breakout, I don't think they could stop us. Of course, that isn't why we're here.)

But he won't let Mina and... and... the other guard (Peter?) leave their posts. In fact, he made a point of telling them to keep their eyes and ears on McKay, Sheppard and Teyla.

(It's so cute the way he took them out of our earshot to tell them that. Like I couldn't read his lips. Hell, like I couldn't figure it out his super-secret special instructions even without reading his lips.)

So that was annoying.

It makes my task harder, that's for sure. Luckily, I happen to be very, very good at this.

The thing that many people don't realise is that: just because you're talking to one person, that doesn't mean you can't communicate with others. You just have to have reasonable peripheral vision and be able to multitask without blowing a mental gasket.

Child's play.

So, take... Patrick. Unlike his boss, I rather suspect he *would* be unarmed in a battle of wits. Luckily, his eyes work just fine and, from the way his tongue is hanging out, so does his libido. He clearly fancies me. And Teyla too, I suppose. Possibly also Mina. Okay, maybe he's just not that discriminating. I've managed to rather cleverly position myself so that all I have to do is lean a little just *so*... or cock my hip, or bend to brush an imaginary speck of lint from my leg...

You get the idea.

It's like I'm a magnet and he has iron eyes. I'm pretty sure I know where his attention is focused right now, and it isn't on whatever Teyla and the boys are whispering about.

And the best part is, Jaran thinks my little show is all for him. Ah, bless.

Mina... Mina requires a different approach. She doesn't seem especially tempted into ogling me, but she does have other qualities I can use. Mainly that she's nervous. Very nervous, in fact. She seems to jump and twitch at every sudden sound and movement. I don't know how she manages to cope as a prison guard if she's this jumpy. Any hardened criminal is likely to walk all over her.

Maybe she's new at this.

Anyway, for some reason she seems more nervous about me than the others. Not sure why. I have such a winning personality. Maybe it's all the veiled references to a life of adventure that I'm sprinkling throughout my conversation with Jaran. But then, she would have to be listening to me in the first place to have picked up on that...

It's a mystery, but it's one I can use. A few sudden movements, occasionally slapping my hand on the table for emphasis, some threatening eye contact when Jaran's looking away... And there we go.

Oh, she's still probably managing to do some eavesdropping on Teyla and the others, but she's hopefully distracted enough that she's going to miss the important stuff.

I'm doing what I can. It's not my fault that the Amata are better at this than we were hoping.

I can't hear what the terrific trio are saying -- which is probably a good thing, if a little frustrating -- but I manage to sneak a few glances over in their direction. McKay and Sheppard seem well enough under the circumstances. No obvious injuries, and no stiffness of movement from unobvious injuries. Good. They're in separate but adjacent cells. (Nice touch. And by nice, I mean a little inconvenient if we have to stage a breakout. Two doors to get through, rather than just one. Oh well. At least they're not chained to the wall.)

Sheppard looks tense and annoyed, so no change there. McKay, though, looks... worried. *Really* worried. Because they got caught? Because he's locked up? Or is it something else? Actually, his face is so expressive that everything he feels is written plainly across it to anyone with the eyes to see. Or, anyone with eyes. I might not be able to hear the words (and quick glances aren't really enough for me to read their lips), but I can see how McKay feels about every single part of it. Angry. Indignant. Self-righteous. Guilty? Defensive. Scared. And, back to angry.

What did he find in that shrine? Should we be running right now?

McKay gestures vehemently towards the door, clearly demanding that the two of us get the two of them out of there right away. I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Could he possibly be any less subtle?

Actually, you know what? I rather think he probably could.

Sheppard seems to agree with McKay. For about the first time since I've known the pair of them. Okay, now I'm worried.

Fortunately, Teyla manages to calm McKay down and head off the incipient histrionics. Her expression is even more inscrutable than usual, but there's a certain tension in the set of her shoulders, in the way she holds herself. I think she's worried, too.

And now I'm *really* worried.

Hurry up, Teyla. Finish questioning McKay and Sheppard so we can get out of here and you can fill me in. I need to know.

Just how bad is this?

How much trouble are we in?

 

* * * * *

 

I find myself holding my breath as I peel back the bandages from Teyla's stomach, almost afraid of what I'll see beneath them. Teyla, of course, is still insisting that she's fine, but then she would. She's stubborn like that. Still, at least she isn't trying to argue me out of tending to her.

Not that it would work of course. She may be stubborn, but so am I when I want to be. And about this, I want to be.

"How does it look?" Teyla asks. She pushes herself up on her elbows, craning her neck in an attempt to see her injury.

"Have a little patience and I'll tell you," I admonish. "And keep still." I put a hand on her shoulder and push gently. For a moment she resists, but then she lets me guide her back down until she's lying flat on the mattress once more. "Good."

The gash is a nasty one, curving almost from hip to belly button in a jagged, angry line. Steeling myself, I press the edges gently, wincing in sympathy at Teyla's sudden intake of breath.

"Well?" she asks, her voice sharp with impatience and pain.

"I think you're right about it being a surface wound," I say, leaning closer to get a better look. "And there's no sign of infection, which is good. But it's still bleeding, and it's wide enough that it isn't going to heal well without stitches. And hiking through the wilderness is not going to help with that."

"Unfortunately, we do not have a choice," she says, matter-of-factly. "We have nothing with which to stitch the wound, and my best chance of medical treatment is to reach our destination as soon as possible."

I open my mouth to suggest that maybe she should stay here, that I should make my way to the chappa'ai on my own, but I close it again without speaking.

Teyla continues. "As I said previously, it is not hindering my movements or otherwise slowing me down overmuch. As long as we can keep any blood loss to a minimum, our best course of action is to keep going as planned."

"Fine," I say, a little tightly. "But if your condition worsens, or you feel that you need to rest, you *tell* me, okay?"

She studies me for a moment or two, for long enough that I think I'm going to have to repeat myself, but then she nods her head, once.

"Agreed."

"Good." I reach for the precious bottle of hydrogen peroxide we'd managed to recover from the wreckage, and pick up a freshly boiled cloth from the pile. "Now, I'm afraid this is going to hurt..."

Sometime later, Teyla and I are patched up as best as we can manage with tape and bandages. Not that I really needed patching up, but Teyla insisted. Honestly, she worries too much.

It's actually kind of sweet.

(Fun fact, though: hydrogen peroxide on an open word hurts like *hell*. What kind of sadist packs that stuff in a first aid kit? I am going to have serious words with Dr Beckett when we get back to Atlantis. There has to be a better alternative. If not, they need to invent one. Pronto)

We sit before the fire, finishing off a rather unsatisfying dinner: Tau'ri ration packs supplemented by some nuts and berries we managed to forage during our hike.

Yum.

Actually, the nuts and berries are reasonably tasty. The ration packs, however, are not. The best that can be said of them is that they're edible. Barely.

Why is it that, wherever in the great wide universe you go, military packaged food seems to be completely devoid of anything resembling flavour?

It's a mystery.

"What are you thinking?" Teyla asks.

I shrug.

"Just wondering why military rations everywhere all taste the same."

"I quite like the Lantean provisions," she replies.

I look over at her in disbelief, but she seems to be serious.

"Really? You actually *like* food this bland? Seriously?"

She gives a one-shouldered shrug.

"I would not like to eat it all the time, but it has a subtle flavour that is different to anything I have encountered before. I find it pleasant."

"Subtle is accurate enough, I suppose." If by 'subtle' you mean non-existent. "But I've had proper Tau'ri food. On Earth, even. I *know* they can do better than this."

Teyla's eyes light up. "Oh yes," she agrees. "I myself am rather fond of the delicacy they call 'chocolate'. Elizabeth introduced me to it."

I'm already nodding. (Carefully.)

"Ah yes, chocolate. Easily one of their greatest inventions, if you ask me." I lean forward a little, warming to the subject. "Do you know they have lots of different types?"

"Elizabeth has said as much. She prefers the kind they call 'milk'. I like that well enough, but I think I am more partial to the 'dark' kind." She laughs, her expression turning fond. "John once shared with me a variety containing something called 'chili pepper'. That one, I suspect, is more of an acquired taste."

"I rather like it," I admit. I grin. "Sometimes it's nice to have a little spice."

Teyla quirks an eyebrow, meeting my gaze.

"Are we still speaking of chocolate?" she asks, sounding amused.

I shrug lazily.

"Are we?"

I wonder if she'll pull away, if she'll laugh. If she'll change the subject, if she'll try to analyse me once more.

I'm really not expecting her to lean over and kiss me.

Her lips are gentle on mine, but sure, the moment of contact sending a shock right through my body. After a brief, stunned moment, instinct takes over, parting my lips, tilting my neck for a better angle, sliding one hand up to cup the back of her head.

She makes a low, pleased sound, and shifts her weight a little, pressing her body against mine. I shiver and press back, but she's suddenly slipping away, leaving me abruptly bereft of that soft, delicious pressure; leaving me half-sitting, half-sprawling on the floor as she rises smoothly to her feet.

She looks down at me, and for a moment, the expression on her face is completely unreadable, but then a smile clears it away.

"Need a hand up?" she asks.

I'm obscurely pleased to notice that her voice is just a little breathless, that there's a hint of a flush to her cheeks.

She kissed me.

She *kissed* me.

A smile bubbles up from within.

Well, okay then.

A thousand and one possible responses run through my mind, but in the end I simply accept her outstretched hand and let her draw me to my feet. (I stop short of actually letting her take any of my weight, though -- there's no way I'm going to risk her opening up her stomach wound through exertion.)

I stand up a little too quickly, but I ignore the way the room loops and whirls about me to twine my fingers through hers, leaning in close to fix her with a deliberately quizzical look. 

"What was that?" I ask, my voice low and breathy.

Her smile broadens.

"That was a kiss, Vala." She squeezes my hand. "I thought you would have recognised that."

"It seems to spark a vague memory." I can't suppress the smile any longer, letting it curve my lips and sparkle in my eyes. "But what I meant was: why?"

"I find you attractive," she says forthrightly. "And you have been flirting outrageously with me since the day we met." She raises an eyebrow. "Did I mistake your interest?"

"Not at all." I let my gaze travel over her toned, athletic form, making no attempt to conceal the sudden rush of heat it brings. (Although I do bite back the wince as a spike of pain goes through my head.) "But you didn't give any sign it might be reciprocated." I laugh. "Until our earlier conversation about techniques, I was half-wondering if you were actually a prude."

"You make too many assumptions," she says lightly, smiling to take the sting out of her words. "Reserved does not mean inhibited."

"Apparently not." I wrap my other arm around her body, drawing us close together. (I'm a little startled to realise that she's actually shorter than I am. She has so much presence, such a strong air of physicality, that I always think of her as taller than she is.) "So..." I breathe, brushing my lips lightly over hers. "What now?"

"Now?" she smiles against my mouth, and then twists away, slipping easily out of my grasp. "Now, I will take first watch and you will get some sleep."

I blink. That was... not the answer I expected.

"There's plenty of time to sleep," I argue, taking a step forward.

She shakes her head.

"We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow and it is important that we rest."

"But-"

"Vala," she says firmly. "You have a concussion. I have a stomach wound. Indulging in sexual athletics is probably not the wisest thing to do right now."

I *guess* she has a point, but...

"It would be fun," I point out, giving her a winsome look through my eyelashes.

"No doubt," she agrees. "But for now, we need to focus on reaching our destination. Perhaps when we reach there, and have received appropriate medical treatment..." She lets her words trail off, and then suddenly flashes me a brilliant smile. "Think of it as motivation."

"Teyla Emmagan, you are a filthy rotten tease," I say, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.

"From you, I will take that as a very great compliment. Now, try to get some sleep. I will wake you when it is your turn to watch."

She takes up a seat near the fire, bracing herself against the wall.

Apparently, this conversation is over.

I half-heartedly think about making a snappy retort, but find myself distracted by the huge yawn that splits my face.

I *am* tired.

And I ache so very much.

But despite that, despite the exhaustion that weighs on my bones and fills my head with sand, the memory -- the promise -- of that kiss keeps fluttering through my body and mind.

So, I can't help wondering.

How on earth does she expect me to get any sleep now?


	4. Chapter 4

"It is a bomb."

I stare at Teyla, wondering if I really heard her say what I thought I just heard her say.

"Excuse me?" I ask, willing it to be a mistake.

"The source of the energy readings that McKay has been tracking. It appears to be an Ancient device. A weapon."

I blink.

"And the Amata have it in their shrine?"

Teyla sighs.

"I doubt they actually know what it is. They revere the Ancients as great makers and builders. Their holy artefacts likely include a few Ancient machines, their functions lost to time."

Now *that* is a useful thing to know. I file the information away for when we're not in crisis mode.

"I... guess we should try not to set it off, then," I say a little inanely, my thoughts racing frantically.

She... twitches.

Oh no. No.

Please don't tell me that...?

As if she can read my mind, Teyla's lips twist in a wry, mirthless smile. "That is not the extent of the bad news, I am afraid. Rodney thinks that the device has been activated. It is counting down as we speak."

"How long?" I ask, proud of the way my voice comes out steady and even.

"Somewhere between twenty-four and forty-eight earth standard hours from activation, which Rodney believes was sometime within the last two or three hours."

"The weird energy spike he mentioned?" I guess.

"That would seem to be the logical surmise, yes."

I turn that thought over in my mind, sudden suspicion prompting me to add up two and two to get something I suspect is remarkably close to four. Like, say, four.

"That timing is... awfully coincidental..." I let my words trail off into silence, raising my eyebrows enquiringly.

"Rodney informed me that he tried using what he called an 'active search program' to 'ping' the device in order to narrow down its location. Apparently there is a chance that this may have... triggered a response."

Well, that explains that.

I make a mental note to slap McKay upside the head a couple of times next time I see him.

(If we survive this.)

"Any idea about the likely size of the explosion? Could it be the equivalent of a grenade, something small enough for the blast to be contained?"

Please, please, please, please...

She shakes her head, a short, jerky motion, but then I already knew we couldn't possibly be that fortunate.

"Rodney does not know for certain, but he thinks it could potentially destroy much of this settlement. The phrase he used was 'city killer.'"

Of *course* he did.

Well, that's great. That's just *wonderful*. Could this day possibly-

No, I am *not* going to finish that sentence. That's just asking for trouble.

So.

Options.

(I could run. I could take the jumper and leave. I could turn my back on these people and look to my own survival. Just abandon them to their fates. I could. I could.)

(I can't.)

We could run. But McKay and Sheppard are still behind bars, and I doubt Teyla would consent to leaving them behind. Truth to tell, it wouldn't sit well with me, either. So, we'd have to stage a jailbreak, which comes with its own difficulties. Anyway, what about the Amata? They may be pompous, self-important, overly-formal sticks in the mud sorely in need of a collective humour transplant -- at least, many of the ones I've met are -- but that doesn't mean they deserve to die.

Especially because of something that we -- that is to say, McKay -- may have triggered.

Leaving aside the cut and run approach, there are two obvious solutions I can see: defuse it, or get rid of it.

Both have their risks, but I think on balance I prefer the second. It's not that I don't think McKay could defuse it. I'm sure he could, given time. But we don't have time. And if he can't, well, we're back at square one. At least once it's out of here the settlement will be safe no matter what.

"We have to get the bomb out of here. Take the puddlejumper, get it as far away from the settlement as we can."

"Agreed, but I cannot fly the puddlejumper. I do not have the Ancient gene. Unless you...?"

I'm already nodding. "Not a problem. I have the gene, and I'm familiar with the controls." A slight exaggeration, perhaps, but she doesn't need to know that. "I can get us out of here."

"Good," she says, looking a little relieved.

"Which brings us to the next problem: getting hold of the bomb." I smile wryly. "Somehow I doubt the Amata are just going to take us at our word and hand over one of their precious holy artefacts..."

"I might be able to persuade them eventually, but I suspect not in the time we have."

If this was anyone but Teyla, I'd even have my doubts about the 'eventually.' But even she can't work miracles, and I think she'd be hard-pressed to get one of the high-ups to even meet with us before the bomb goes off, let alone persuade them to hand it over.

Which only leaves one reasonable course of action.

"We're going to have to take it." Teyla starts to speak, but I continue, overriding what's sure to be an objection. "You said yourself, they're not going to *let* us have it, and if we try to ask them first they'll just increase their security, maybe even move the blasted thing to another location. This is one occasion when it really is better to ask forgiveness than permission." I really do like that phrase. "And we'll have a big crater to point to as evidence that we're telling the truth. So-"

"I was not going to disagree with your conclusion," she interrupts, sounding a little impatient. "But I have some information."

I break off what I was about to say, raising my eyebrows at her.

"About the bomb?"

"No." Her eyes flicker away from mine, briefly, then she resolutely meets and holds my gaze once more. She seems tense in a way that doesn't seem connected with the imminent explosion hanging over our heads. "I do not know if you are aware, but there are... factions within the Amatan ruling class. Factions with different agendas and ideas about how things should be run."

"Yes?" I say in response to her expectant look. I mean, I didn't know specifically, buuuut I kind of assumed. For any group of people greater than one, factions and schisms are pretty much an inescapable fact of life. It's just human nature. Sentient nature, even, judging from what I've seen of both the Goa'uld and the Asgard.

Despite the Asgard's fervent protestations of being far too evolved for such a thing.

But what does this have to do with anything?

"I have been... approached... by representatives of one of the factions not currently in power. They seem quite keen to court the favour of the Lanteans."

"And you think you can use that to get access to the shrine?"

Because why else would she mention this right now?

(And why didn't she mention it before? Anyway, what does she mean by 'approached'? How did they approach her? And how come I didn't notice this?)

"Perhaps."

She's guarded now. Cautious.

What isn't she telling me?

"Do we even have time for this? Arranging a meeting, convincing them that we're not crazies or blasphemers... These kinds of things generally don't move quickly."

"The meeting is already arranged." She casts a quick glance towards the ornate analogue chronometer hanging on the wall, and then checks the plain digital Tau'ri watch on her own wrist. "Approximately half a standard hour from now, in the water gardens."

"When did you arrange this?"

I can't quite keep the edge from my voice, but she doesn't seem at all defensive or guilty as she replies.

"The idea was raised during a quiet conversation with one of the guests at our welcome dinner. The details were finalised in a message given to me by Mina, the guard who searched us when we visited McKay and Sheppard."

"That little minx," I murmur, feeling an unwilling flare of admiration. No wonder she seemed so on edge. It doesn't explain why she was worried about little old me, however. Never mind. I sigh. "Do you really think this meeting is a valuable use of our time?"

"I do. Although it is not necessary for both of us to attend, if you would prefer otherwise."

"Oh, please." I shoot her a disgusted look. "If you're going, I'm going. Unless you think I'll cramp your style."

"Not at all. I would be honoured if you would accompany me."

Honoured, eh? She certainly has a pretty way with words, I'll give her that.

"Then it's a date."

That sounded... grimmer than I thought it would.

I hope this works, I really do. Normally I'd be unreservedly up for a good heist, but this time people's lives are on the line. But even if it doesn't, if Teyla can't persuade these rebels to our cause, or if they simply can't deliver, it's still going to be okay.

Because there's always plan B.

I always, always, *always* have a plan B.

And if Teyla doesn't like it...

Well.

I suppose I'll just have to ask for her forgiveness.

 

* * * * *

 

It's a relief to finally see the back of the forest, to be out of its oppressive gloom. Not to be tripping over tree roots and fallen branches. Of course, now we have to deal with rocks. Boulders, really. They're scattered around the rolling hills like a giant's dropped playthings, forcing us to take something of a meandering path. The hills themselves are covered with a particularly annoying type of grass that seems to have an unholy talent for getting through and under my clothing to stick to my skin.

Still, at least we're making progress. And at least we can now see actual sunlight.

You lose some, you win some, I suppose.

I wish there was time to bask a little in the sunlight, but I know we need to keep moving. Teyla estimates that we have to travel another day or so before we reach the chappa'ai. If we're *really* lucky, we won't have to stay out here another night.

Alas, we're probably not that lucky.

Teyla doesn't seem to feel the same sense of relief I do from putting the forest behind us. If anything, she seems to have stepped her alertness up several notches, scanning the surroundings as if she's expecting hostiles. Maybe she's just being paranoid, or...

What does she know that I don't?

"What's wrong, Teyla?" I speak quietly, just in case. "Why are you acting like a mouse in a room full of sleeping cats?"

"I am watching for pteraks," she says, just as quietly. "We are out in the open here. If we should stumble across a flight of them, there are few places for us to hide."

I feel cold all of a sudden, like I've just been doused in ice water.

"I thought we'd left them behind," I hiss.

"I hoped we had," she murmurs back. "But I have been noticing traces of their spoor, here and there. And look." She points towards a pathetic tumbled heap of small bones. They've been picked clean, but whether by beaks or by the elements it's hard to say. "Remnants of a kill." She takes a breath. "There is likely a nest nearby."

My heart starts to race. I take a couple of slow, even breaths to get the incipient panic back under control.

"Can we go around it?"

"If I knew exactly where it was. Unfortunately, all I can tell is that it is somewhere in this vicinity."

"Great," I mutter, pleased that I only sound annoyed, rather than afraid. (I'm not afraid. I'm just... justifiably wary.) "So we could stumble over them at any moment. I told you the countryside was out to get us. I warned you, didn't I?"

"That you did," she agrees, her voice suddenly distant.

My stomach drops.

"Have you located the nest?" I ask softly. I almost don't want to hear the answer, would almost prefer to soldier on in blissful ignorance.

Almost.

"Up ahead and to our left. The particularly large boulder near the top of the slope. It is shaped like the head of one of your Asgard."

I turn to look.

Huh. The rock really does look like an Asgard's head. Bulbous and round at the top, narrow and pointy at the bottom. I can't help wondering how it doesn't topple over.

Kind of like the Asgard.

And then all trivialities are driven clean out of my head as my eyes fasten on the grey-brown, writhing mass clustered around the summit.

Pteraks.

Lots of pteraks.

Shit.

"What do we do?" I whisper. "Hunker down and try to wait them out?" I desperately try to think through everything I know about pteraks. "How good is their vision?"

"Better than I would hope," Teyla says, grimly. "In shadows, with cover, they are unlikely to see a stationary target. Out here in the open, in bright sunlight, the odds are not in our favour. Even if we keep perfectly still."

I swallow hard, trying to clear the lump in my throat.

"So we keep moving?"

"Yes. We will attempt to circle around and put some of these boulders between us and them. Move slowly and smoothly, making as little noise as possible. Can you do this?"

It's my turn to give her a Look now.

"Of course."

I'm mildly impressed with myself for the amount of indignation I manage to pack into a barely-audible whisper. Annoyingly, Teyla doesn't seem to notice.

All she says is: "Then let us proceed."

Slowly, carefully, we make our way through the rock-strewn hills. We use cover wherever we can, but there seems to be distressingly little of it available.

It's funny. When we first left the forest, I thought these hills were positively littered with boulders; that we could barely take a step without tripping over one. Now, those blessed rocks seem to be scattered few and far between, set in a positively nerve-wracking expanse of wide-open space.

It's amazing how the presence of deadly dangerous predators can alter your perspective on things.

Slowly, painfully, one step at a time, we increase the distance between the two of us and the nest.

Time passes.

It passes at a crawl, mind you, but it passes.

I start to hope.

That's probably my first mistake.

I swear neither of us makes a sound or a sudden movement, or even does a single thing to attract their attention. But one minute they're swarming over their rock and the next, the whole flock is boiling up into the air.

It sounds like laundry day in a jaffa barracks; like a thousand pairs of leather trousers flapping in the breeze.

And then the pteraks start to screech.

I look to Teyla, resisting the urge to clap my hands over my ears and run like the Law itself is after me. She's readying her P90, apparently intending that we should make a stand here.

Okay, then. As long as we have a plan.

I unsling my own weapon, turning so the two of us are back to back.

The pterak flock is coming closer, moving as one; a beast of many beaks and talons, each one yearning for our tender flesh.

"Any tactical advice?" I ask Teyla.

I'm almost surprised that my voice doesn't shake.

"Start picking them off as soon as they come into range." Her words are clipped, her voice steady. "Take the leaders if you can. When they start to dive, I'll switch to banto sticks and attempt to discourage them from getting too close to us. You concentrate on thinning their numbers." She draws in a harsh, rasping breath. "May the ancestors be with us."

And then there's no more time for speech.

The flock comes into range!

The gunfire is loud in my ears, the sudden chatter almost startling despite the fact I know it's coming. It startles the pteraks too, only enough to check their forward momentum for barely an instant.

Apparently prey that makes loud noises of its own isn't that big a deal to them.

Not that I was expecting anything else.

Without even thinking about it, I brace against my gun's recoil, letting my body settle into the familiar rhythm of aim-fire, aim-fire, aim-fire as I pump bullets into the oncoming cloud of death.

Teyla and I cut through the flock, pteraks falling from the air to land bleeding and broken on the ground. Or, if still managing to remain airborne, erratically flapping hither and yon, breaking formation, crashing into their fellows.

Either is good.

But not good enough.

Soon, far too soon, the flock is upon us.

They wheel and dive, talons outstretched to rake and claw and tear.

I duck the first one, maintaining fire, but behind that there's another and another and another, and I know it's just a matter of time.

One scores a line of fire down my arm, but then Teyla is there, slamming one of her sticks into its body, knocking it to the ground with a mighty thump.

And suddenly she's everywhere, spinning like a dervish, wielding those sticks of hers like a demon. She's a one-woman whirlwind of blunt force trauma, making sure she gives any pterak that gets within range something to think about other than our tasty, tasty flesh.

Maybe we will survive this after all.

More confidently, I focus on using my P90 to thin out the opposition, trusting to Teyla to watch my back. And front, and sides, and everything else.

And herself.

The world shrinks down until it's just us and the pteraks; the ebb and flow of the battle.

I lose track of time. It feels like we've been fighting forever, like this is never going to end, like maybe we died somewhere along the way and this is our eternity, like-

Wait a minute: they're leaving.

They're leaving?

They're leaving!

As one, the remaining pteraks wheel about and just keep going, making for the far horizon and their empty nest.

Yeah, you'd *better* flee, you leather-winged monstrosities.

We did it. We drove them off.

We survived!

"They are leaving?"

Teyla's voice is shaky with relief. I turn to face her, a triumphant smile plastered across my face.

"Yep. I guess their tiny brains finally figured out that we're just too badass to mess with."

"Good. That is... good." She scrubs one hand across her eyes, looking a little dazed. "We should move. In case they come back. We should... We should-"

And then she crumples to the ground.

 

* * * * *

 

I'd find the water gardens soothing if I wasn't so worried about being blown up at any minute.

Clear water flows through artfully carved channels, cascading from great heights, trickling over cunningly arranged rock formations, swirling in pools and even spouting from various pieces of decorative statuary. Strategically placed mirrors direct the light -- whether natural, or from the many lanterns dotted around the place -- in such a way as to display the gardens to their best advantage.

If you stand at just the right angle -- one of several, naturally -- it feels like you're standing within an endlessly moving construct of diamonds and glass.

Truly beautiful.

I really hope we can stop it being exploded.

I cast a dubious eye over at the Amatan 'rebels.' Six of them showed up to this clandestine rendezvous, which I suppose may be a sign that they're taking it seriously. Or it could just mean that none of them trusts the others enough to let them negotiate on their behalf. Privately, I can't help thinking that the odds of anything useful coming from this meeting are inversely proportional to the number of Amata present. Even as I think this, two of them get into a heated argument, the dispute no less passionate for being conducted entirely in whispers.

Metaphorically rolling my eyes, I once again revise my estimate of the chance we'll actually get some kind of useful agreement out of them before the bomb goes off.

Here's a hint: I don't revise it upwards.

"Makers, Wordsmiths, and Testers," Teyla breaks in. Her voice is quiet but commanding, causing even the arguing pair to break off their squabbling and pay attention. "As I have already explained, time is of the essence. This device could detonate at any moment. It-"

"So what if it does?" interrupts a woman, drawing herself up to look down her not inconsiderable nose at Teyla. I think I'm going to call her... Snooty. "We have wrought our city and our shrines well. Let the Great Destroyer do his worst. The shrine will contain the blast."

Oh, right. The 'Great Destroyer,' also called the 'Great Tester,' opposes their 'Great Maker.' I suppose it makes sense in the context of their culture: an embodiment of destruction to face off against an embodiment of creation.

Seems a bit strange to me that they name their priests after their devil figure, but hey. Alien culture and all that.

And it's hardly the strangest religion I've ever come across.

"But what if it doesn't?" a grey, mousy-looking man answers Snooty, blinking watery brown eyes like he can't quite believe he's actually speaking out loud. (It makes me wonder how someone so apparently timid even joined a rebel group in the first place.) Henceforth, I shall dub him... Mouse.

"Have faith, Ibrahim," Snooty says, gesturing imperiously. "Trust in our craft, in the workings of our minds and our hands. The city will stand." She draws herself to her full height, clearly including the rest of us in her little speech. "It has withstood the Wraith all these years, with their blasters and their bombs and their gifts of Destruction." (Hmm. Does she think the Wraith are blessed of the Great Destroyer? Makes a kind of sense, I suppose.) "It *will* survive this."

I'll say this for Snooty: she seems to have a gift for speech-making.

"I don't think I want to take the risk," Mouse says. "I know those walls like the back of my hand, and if Master Maker McKay is correct in his estimation of the forces involved, then they cannot hold."

Huh. Okay, maybe not a mouse after all. Ibrahim it is, then.

Also: Master Maker McKay? We'd better make sure he never hears *that* one. We'd never get his ego to fit through the chappa'ai ever again.

"*If* McKay is correct." I think I will call this man Obstreperous, Obbie for short. "If *any* of this ridiculous tale is true. I think we would know if there had been a functional 'city-killer' bomb tucked away in our shrine for all this time."

Obbie has had a bee in his bonnet, a chip on his shoulder and any one of a dozen metaphorical objects in inappropriate places about us -- well, the Lanteans -- from the moment he showed up. I get the impression he's not exactly in favour of any kind of alliance between the rebels and the Lanteans. He probably just came along to throw a spanner in the works.

Teyla steps forward, turning a stern look on Obbie.

"Do you think we are attempting to deceive you? That *I* would deceive you thus? Master Maker Fathil, I am a Master Wordsmith, recognised as such by Chief Tester Fatima Khalil herself. To accuse me of deliberate falsehood is a serious matter indeed." 

She speaks softly, but there's a hard edge to her voice that says this is serious business. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely very... firm. With just enough traces disappointment and disbelief to suggest that he's being completely and utterly ridiculous.

I'm glad *I'm* not on the wrong side of that.

Obbie actually blanches a little, blinking rapidly as he tries to backpedal.

"You misunderstand, Master Wordsmith Emmagan." Yep, when in doubt, resort to titles. "I did not intend-"

"I am known to the people of many of the worlds of this galaxy as a fair and honest trader, as someone who can be trusted to arbitrate disputes. I have worked hard for that reputation, Master Maker Fathil. Why would I risk that by attempting to deceive you over something that can so easily be verified?"

Wow. Go, Teyla.

A quick glance around the room shows that the other Amata rebels are distancing themselves from Obbie, whether by literally moving away from him, or by simply giving him disapproving looks. Apparently questioning the word -- no pun intended -- of a Master Wordsmith is actually a really serious thing.

Or they're afraid of pissing off the Lanteans.

Or none of them like Obbie and they're just using this as an excuse.

"Not deception, no, of course not," says Obbie, the words tumbling over each other in his haste to backtrack. "But, and I of course intend no insult to Master Maker McKay's abilities, perhaps there could have been some... mistake?"

"All things are possible," Teyla allows, smiling mirthlessly. "But I do not think it likely. Do you really want to take the risk? If we are correct, and you do nothing, many of your people will die. If we are incorrect, and you act, what harm will come of it? Can you really afford to gamble with the lives of your people?"

There's a moment when time seems to pause, when the world itself seems to hold its breath.

She could do this.

For this first time since we got here -- actually, since she first broached the subject -- I really, truly believe that she can make this work.

Maybe...

"You speak wisdom." The woman speaks grudgingly. She's one of the pair who were arguing so vehemently with each other a few minutes ago. I don't have a nickname for her yet. "We cannot afford to simply do nothing." I'm already starting to mentally congratulate Teyla, but the speaker hasn't yet finished. "However, how do we know that moving the device will not cause it to detonate?"

Oh.

That's a... surprisingly reasonable point.

"You say we have some few hours yet before we need to make a decision," she continues. "I believe we should use that time to have our own Master Makers study the device. Perhaps they will be able to find a way to deactivate it."

Assuming that we have as much time as we think we do. Assuming that poking at it won't trigger it. Assuming that these people, skilled as they are, possess the capability to mess around with Ancient tech and have anything good come out of it.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I am *very* impressed with what I've seen of their work so far, but this is on a whole different level. When it comes to Ancient technology, the Tau'ri are just about on the level of children pushing buttons. Compared to them, the Amata are still at the stage of looking for the buttons.

A touch harsh? Maybe. But not unfair. And I'm not willing to trust my life, the lives of all these people, to some... some... *tinkerer*!

I look to Teyla, waiting for her to say this (diplomatically, of course), but it's already too late. The moment has passed. The Amata are busy *discussing* the matter between themselves.

Enough.

Even supposing we do manage to wrest an agreement from these people, I suspect it'll take so long that we'll be cutting it fine even by my standards.

Time for Plan B.

I sidle over to Teyla, leaning in to whisper to her while the Amata are distracted.

"I think we should-" is all I have time to say before the most gods awful racket breaks out.

Yelling, stomping feet, whistles...

It's the fuzz!

(As one of the shows Teal'c has showed me would have it.)

"That's our cue to leave," I mutter.

Among all the halts and the stop-right-theres and the freezes, my sharp ears catch the word 'treason.'

Uh oh.

I'm already moving, of course, snagging Teyla's arm to drag her with me into a side-passage I scoped out earlier. She stiffens a little at first, perhaps instinctively, but then relaxes and hurries along at my side.

I really appreciate the fact that she doesn't stand around asking pointless questions, or try to do something silly like go back and talk to the guards.

I was half-worried that she would.

"Do you know where we are going?" she asks quietly.

"Maintenance exit," I mutter back.

That seems to be enough for her, and she follows my lead as we weave our way through the lesser-travelled pathways of the water gardens. There are a couple of close calls with the veritable sea of uniforms flooding the place ('sea,' 'flooding,' heh; sometimes I crack myself up), but nothing too serious. Just enough to get the blood pumping a little.

Feels just like old (and not-so-old) times.

The exit is locked, of course, but that isn't a problem. A few moments' work with my trusty lockpicks, and we're through. My mind skips ahead over our next few moves as I close it again behind us.

Right, then. Time to-

"Wait," Teyla breathes. She leans in close, her warm breath tickling my ear.

"No time," I whisper back. "We need to get to that shrine by about five minutes ago. We're not going to get a more perfect distraction than an inter-factional dust-up. It's now or never."

I start moving, relieved that she actually comes with me. That's more than I was expecting.

I'm already marshalling my arguments, readying myself to physically drag her along with me if necessary. If she decides she wants to stop and 'discuss our options' before doing anything 'rash'.

So I'm left somewhat at a loss when she simply nods once and says: "Agreed."

I blink.

"You agree?"

Huh.

I wasn't expecting *that*.

"Of course. As you say, we have little time. Certainly, we have none to spare on getting ourselves embroiled in a little diplomatic... snafu." I wonder if she knows what that word actually stands for. "And who can say if there will ever be a better opportunity."

"Oh. Well, good." I *knew* I liked her. "Good!" I repeat, more firmly.

Teyla quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Perhaps we should concentrate on moving, rather than talking," she says. "As you have pointed out: we have an opportunity here. Let us not waste it."

"Right." I give myself a mental shake. "This way."

We pick up the pace, following the route I've already mapped out in my head. The one that will get us to the shrine while hopefully encountering as few people as possible.

There'll be time to revise my opinion of Teyla later, *after* we've got rid of the bomb and we're home free.

Now is the time to focus.

Now it's time for Plan B.

 

* * * * *

 

"Teyla!"

I drop to my knees by her side, reaching out to turn her over. My pulse is pounding in my ears like an overenthusiastic drummer, and it feels like my heart is in my mouth.

Please let her be alright.

Please let-

Wait, she's moving.

"I am fine," she says, the weakness of her voice a testament to the lie of her words. She tries to sit up. I put a hand on her shoulder, letting her know that won't be happening just yet. I don't apply any pressure, but she stops and looks up at me with an expression I can only describe as mutinous. "Do not worry, Vala."

My eyebrows rocket skywards with disbelief.

"Don't worry? Teyla, you just collapsed! People who are fine don't just collapse."

"It was merely a little dizzy spell. That is all."

I sort disparagingly.

"Like that's going to stop me worrying about you. What's wrong? Are you hurt? Let me see."

Without waiting for a response, I start checking her over, beginning with her head. It's obvious that our altercation with the pteraks has left her with new scratches and scrapes a-plenty, but nothing serious enough to explain her sudden collapse. Nothing visible, anyway.

Until I get to her stomach.

The blood has soaked completely through her bandages, and is starting to stain her tunic. Moving more by instinct than by conscious thought, I shrug out of my pack and methodically start retrieving the remainder of the dressings.

"Vala!" Teyla says, loud enough that I quickly look around to make sure she hasn't attracted the pteraks' attention. Belatedly, I realise that she's been speaking all this time.

"What?" I say, absently. Thanks to the pack still strapped to her back, she's laying awkwardly enough that her tunic won't stay up when I push it back. "Hold this." I press the hem into her hand. "That's better. Now I have room to work."

I briefly contemplate taking off her original dressing, but I don't want to risk it. As she was trying to say before she collapsed like a sack of severed limbs, time is of the essence right now.

Plus, there's the fear that those bandages are all that's keeping her abdomen together right now.

(Please let Teyla be okay.)

(Please.)

"We have to *move*," Teyla says, through gritted teeth. "The pteraks may change their mind again at any moment."

"I'm aware," I reply, letting some of my concern show in my voice. I don't like it, but she's right. This area isn't safe. "This won't take long."

Attempting to be both gentle and swift -- and undoubtedly failing with at least one of those -- I wipe as much of the blood from Teyla's skin as I can, then place several pieces of tape over the injury, on top of her bandages. I doubt it's going to hold for long, but easing even some of the strain on the wound itself has to be a good thing. Next, I reach for the bandages.

"I'm going to have to make this tight if you're going to walk without gushing everywhere," I say grimly. "It's going to be a bit like wearing a corset. Let me know if it's too tight, though. You need to be able to breathe."

"Would it not be better to do this while I am standing, then?" she asks. "We will know better then how much room I need."

I narrow my eyes at her.

"*Can* you stand?"

"I believe so." Her lips twist in a mirthless smile. "In any case, I must. There is no other option."

I want to protest, but she's right. I can't carry her. I could maybe make some kind of a travois out of the sleeping bags, but I shudder to think what it would be like to drag her over these rocky hills.

"Lean on me, then." I offer her an arm. "And take it slowly."

She doesn't bother to reply verbally, but her expression speaks volumes.

Leaning heavily on me, she gets slowly and carefully to her feet. There's a hairy moment when she sways back and forth like a tree in the breeze, but she manages to pull through it.

Take that, gravity!

"There," she says.

"It's a start," I allow. "Now hold still. And tell me when this is too tight."

With a little trial and error, we manage to get her injury bound tightly enough to (hopefully) staunch the bleeding, while still letting her breathe.

It'll have to do.

Teyla attempts a few trial steps, with me hovering nearby so I can hopefully catch her if she falls. Luckily, she remains upright.

"This will suffice," she says. "Now let us be off. I want to be out of range of the nest before we stop once more."

"Agreed." I reach out and take hold of her backpack. "I'll just be taking this first."

She looks like she's going to argue, but I glare balefully at her and she subsides with her protest unvoiced. She even loosens the straps so I can lift it off her more easily.

"Good girl!" I can't resist saying.

She raises an eyebrow.

"Do you truly believe that you may speak so to me with impunity?" she asks. Her tone is acid, but her eyes glint in a way that I can only describe as wicked. "I warn you now that my injury in no way diminishes my capacity for exacting retribution."

I grin, and the expression actually feels genuine.

"Teyla, darling, you are more than welcome to try."

Her only response to that is to smile in a way that makes me want to shiver to my bones.

Damn.

What have I gotten myself into?

I gather up my things, redistributing them a little to make them easier to carry. Not *easy* mind you, but easier.

I can do this. I can.

I'm certainly not going to let Teyla carrying anything if I can help it. Well, anything but her weapons. She can keep those.

For now.

"Right, I'm ready," I murmur, trying not to sigh at the thought of yet more hiking. "Let's go."

The next part of our trek is pretty awful. At first, we have to move slowly and carefully so as to reduce the chances of spooking the pteraks. Teyla doesn't *think* they're likely to come after us again right now, but you never know. Especially given our luck so far.

You know, I bet finding that waystation to spend last night in used up any luck we had left over from actually surviving the crash. The universe *totally* works like that. I don't care what Daniel says.

Hey, I bet there's a bunch of bored Ascendants hovering somewhere, *watching* us. I mean, it's not like they have anything else to do. And I wouldn't put it past them to use their oogy-boogy powers to shift a few odds here and there, to make things more interesting. 'Non-interference' my arse. I bet they'd interfere just fine if they thought they could get away with it. And if it amused them enough.

Watching us is probably their version of the Tau'ri's 'reality television'.

Bunch of bloody voyeurs!

It would certainly explain a lot.

Well, I hope they're enjoying the show.

In any case, we manage to make it out of the danger zone without triggering another pterak attack.

Hey, that sort of rhymes. Pterak Attack! Now coming to a screen near you. Heh.

Ahem.

The next part of the journey is a little quicker, a little less nerve-wracking, but still far from pleasant. Despite insisting that she's 'doing reasonably well under the circumstances, thank you, so you need not worry about me,' Teyla pretty clearly isn't fine. She doesn't fall over again, but she does wobble occasionally. Naturally, if I say anything, she insists she's fine.

Well, not *fine* fine, but 'well enough to travel.'

Hell, maybe she is. I let her set the pace, and she manages a brisker one than I would have expected, but then how much of that is sheer stubbornness?

I mean, stubbornness can get you a long way, but even that has its limits.

Unless you're Vala Mal Doran, of course, but that should go without saying.

I know our best chance is to press onwards, to reach the chappa'ai and get help. I do know that. It makes sense, even if it risks making her injuries worse than they'd be if we took it easy and kept stopping to rest. But it's hard, watching her suffer.

Even if she does her best not to show it.

"I have a question." Teyla's voice is thoughtful, her words breaking the comfortable silence that's been wrapped us like a cocoon for the past few minutes.

"Yes?" I say.

"Why did you say that this was all my fault?"

Huh? Did I say that? When did I say that? It certainly sounds like something I would say, but...

I frown, casting my mind back over the past day or so.

Oh, yes. Right at the beginning of our little stroll.

I shrug.

"If we'd just gone to grab the bomb as soon as we knew there *was* a bomb, we might have had enough time to get rid of it without getting ourselves blown up in the process." I turn a beneficent smile in Teyla's direction. "It's alright, though, I forgive you. I'm magnanimous like that."

Teyla gives me a Look.

"You do realise that there would have been more guards around? That we would not have had the distraction provided by the interruption of the rebels' meeting?"

"Yes, but-"

It suddenly hits me, then, the vague sense of something-askew I felt but didn't have the time or spare mental capacity to properly consider back when we were right in the middle of that whole palaver.

It all comes down to the timing.

In my experience, the universe generally isn't nice enough to provide convenient distractions exactly when you want them. You generally have to plan your escapades around a distraction you know about ahead of time, or to make your own.

I eye Teyla speculatively.

"It was awfully convenient that the guards showed up when they did," I muse.

"I suppose it was."

Maybe I should try being a little more direct.

"Did you have anything to do with that?"

Silence; a hesitation that becomes a pause, that stretches and lengthens, but doesn't feel like a refusal to answer. Just... careful consideration.

Finally, she fixes me with a level gaze.

"Perhaps the timing of the guards' intervention was, although fortuitous, not entirely coincidental."

Oh.

Well.

That *is* interesting.

It's my turn to let the silence stretch now, turning her words every which way in my mind as I try to decide how to phrase my questions.

"What about those so-called 'rebels'?" It's impossible to imbue that word with enough contempt, but I make a good fist of it. "Aren't they going to get in trouble?"

Teyla purses her lips.

"They should suffer nothing more than mild embarrassment. As will the ambitious young Tester who believed she was about to uncover a major plot; one that she could use to cast doubt upon the competence of the ruling council."

I can't help feeling some scepticism about that 'nothing more,' but I don't bother giving voice to my doubts. In any case, 'mild embarrassment' can still be plenty of cause for a major grudge.

"I hope you didn't want to make friends with any of them," I say lightly. "Because I doubt they're going to be positively inclined towards you after that little fiasco."

She shrugs. And then winces. And then gives me a covert glance to see whether I've noticed. I frown, but refrain from commenting.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time will tell. In any event, their reputations will recover soon enough. And, in the meantime, the Chief Tester's position is strengthened." She pauses for a brief moment, enunciating her next words very clearly. "Chief Tester Khalil strongly favours the alliance between the Amata and the Lanteans. Her strength is to our benefit."

I work through the implications of that, adding up two and two to get that Teyla can be downright *devious*.

How in all the hells did I miss that?

"So," I say. "Let me get this straight: you and Chief Tester What'shername were in cahoots?"

She frowns.

"No, not at all. I apologise if I have accidentally given that impression. Let us simply say that I became aware of an opportunity." She flashes me a wry smile. "If she and I *were* in cahoots, I would simply have gone to her regarding the bomb."

Hmmm.

"Okay, good point. But I just can't believe you..." I shake my head. (Ow!) "You..."

Teyla favours me with an amused glance as, unusually for me, I find myself at a loss for words.

"Yes?" she says, encouragingly.

I struggle for a moment or two more, then give up on the whole endeavour. Instead, I give her my most brilliant smile.

"Teyla, I *knew* there was a reason I liked you."


	5. Chapter 5

Things to do:

One - Break into the inner sanctum of an Amata holy shrine. Preferably without seriously hurting anyone. And without getting hurt ourselves.

Two - Identify which of the possibly numerous Ancient artefacts is the one ticking down to boom o' clock.

Three - Liberate said artefact. (And any other, ahem, 'potentially dangerous devices' that may be positioned conveniently nearby. And that are portable, of course. One must always endeavour to be practical in these situations.)

Four - Get the bomb to the puddlejumper, with all the same caveats as in number one, plus the additional requirement of not accidentally detonating it.

Five - Try to figure out the puddlejumper's controls enough to actually make the thing fly. Fast. And safely, I suppose. But mainly fast.

Six - Get the bomb to a safe distance away from both the town and the chappa'ai, and get rid of it. Carefully. See above re: not blowing ourselves sky high.

Seven - Flee through the chappa'ai.

Eight - Make the whole mess somebody else's problem.

Nine - Mumble mumble, artifact appraisal, mumble mumble, contacts, mumble mumble fence.

Ten - Profit!

Now *that* sounds like a plan with a hat. What could possibly go-

No! Idiot! What was I thinking? For the love of all that's shiny, *never* ask that question. Never! Not even in sarcasm. Not even just in my own head! The universe does not care whether you're being sarcastic when you ask that question.

And then bad things happen.

Very bad things.

Annnnyway.

Moving on.

So, I have a ten-step plan, and I'm currently on step... umm... one.

Hey ho. Best get a wriggle on.

Teyla and I are currently ensconced in a side-passage a little way down from the main entrance to the shrine. I'm using a compact mirror to scope out the target from around the corner, mentally reviewing everything I know about it.

That's rather less than I'd like.

There are two parts to the shrine: a public area and a private area. Any of the Amata -- and even a trusted off-worlder or two -- can wander around the public area to their heart's content. It's encouraged, in fact; all the better to inspire the masses to strive for perfection. As the name suggests, however, the private area is somewhat more restricted. Only the most devout, worthy and/or important (influential, powerful, wealthy, etc.) people are allowed to set foot in its hallowed halls.

According to what McKay and Sheppard told Teyla, the inner sanctum was only barely guarded when they paid their little visit. There were a couple of acolytes stationed in the entryway, but I get the impression that they were mainly for appearances' sake.

That, however, was then.

*Now*, there seems to be a small phalanx of guards on duty, no doubt keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of marauding off-worlders.

Thanks a lot, boys. Thanks for *nothing*.

There's also the matter of physical security. Apparently the place was locked up tight even before the great kerfuffle. No doubt it's like a little fortress right now. The terrible twosome only made it as far as the vestibule before getting themselves carted off to jail.

(I'm still not entirely sure *how* they managed to acquire a blasphemy charge if they never even made it into the inner sanctum. Are the Amata really that touchy about their precious shrine? Maybe McKay went off on one of his tirades; called a high priest a short-sighted idiot or something. I simply must get the full story at some point.)

But yes, that does mean that they didn't actually get a look at the bomb. So, *we* have no idea what it actually looks like. Because this whole mess just wasn't enough of a challenge.

At least we can track the energy signature using the scanner I so thoughtfully packed before leaving our quarters. And I should be able to use my ATA gene to help figure it out.

Anyway, first things first: we still have to get in there.

"I hate to say this," I murmur to Teyla, pulling out my zat gun. (The one I somehow 'forgot' to leave back at the SGC when I took ship for Atlantis. Oops.) "But I think we're going to have to go for the frontal approach. There probably is a back way, somewhere, but I don't think we can afford the time to scope it out."

"I fear that you are right," Teyla says, looking grim. She cocks her head curiously. "What manner of weapon is that?"

"It's called a zat gun. It goes zat and then people fall over." Saying that never gets old. "That is to say, it stuns people," I clarify. 

"Useful," she comments, and a certain tension seems to ease a little behind her eyes, which sparkle with lively interest.

For some reason, I feel compelled to add: "I prefer not to injure or kill people if I can avoid it. And these poor bastards are only doing their jobs."

And besides, things tend to go a lot better if they ever catch up with you later on.

She nods to me, the corners of her mouth turning up a little in a slight smile. "A sentiment I share," she says, softly.

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say to that, so I use my mirror take another look at the shrine. Clearing my mind of any and all distractions, I focus my attention on the task at hand.

"Ready?" I ask.

Teyla nods, standing lightly on the balls of her feet, looking like a woman who's ready for anything. I give her a bright smile.

(Because, despite the less than ideal circumstances, despite the fact that lives are riding on our -- on my -- success, I'm actually looking forward to this heist. The thrill of it, even the danger; it's a real adrenaline rush. It's at times like this that I really feel alive. I know I should be scared out of my wits, but even that thought is a dim and distant echo, far away on the horizon. My mind is clear, my will is steady, my senses are heightened and my whole being is focused on my goal.)

(There's nothing in all the worlds quite like this feeling.)

(I wonder if Teyla feels the same?)

I ready the zat gun.

"Stay behind me," I caution her. "Be ready to deal with any guards I miss." Not that I'm going to miss, but it's better to have a fallback. "When we get to the door, watch my back while I work. I'll hand you the zat gun. Hold it like so and press this button here to fire." I demonstrate. "Don't shoot anyone more than once."

"Why is that?"

"Because that'll kill them. One shot equals stunned. Two shots equals dead. Three shots equals gone. Got that?"

"Yes." She looks like she has questions, but she keeps them to herself for now. Smart woman.

"Then let's go."

I'm already moving, taking off at a run, stowing the mirror at the last possible moment before I round the corner and can see the guards for myself. There are times for the subtle approach, for using my feminine wiles to get close and take them by surprise.

This isn't one of them.

This is a time for hitting hard and fast and for not letting *anything* slow us down.

Zat.

The runner drops like a stone. Nice of the Amata to colour-code themselves so neatly.

Zat.

Next, the head guard, also conveniently easy to identify.

Communication and command: always priority targets. If you're dealing with an undisciplined rabble, taking these out can be enough to reduce them to confusion. Unfortunately, the Amata aren't exactly a rabble.

One guard goes for something that looks like a giant horn, probably an alarm of some kind.

I stun him.

The rest charge towards us, presumably seeking to engage us at close range to negate the zat gun's advantage.

Yeah, good luck with that.

I stop, brace and fire, shifting my aim from one to the other with the smoothness of muscle memory. Four guards drop to the ground.

Done.

Giving the area a quick once-over to check if I've missed anyone -- I haven't -- Teyla and I stack the unconscious bodies in a side-passage. I successfully manage to resist the urge to pose them in compromising positions. (And I do like the fact that I don't even have to say anything. She just starts taking care of it.) Once the area is clear, I quickly cross the open area in front of the shrine entrance and race up the short flight of steps to the door, taking them two at a time.

The doors to the public area of the shrine normally stand open, welcoming one and all. They're closed now, of course. Barred and locked.

Not a problem.

"Help me with this," I mutter to Teyla. Between the two of us, we lift the heavy iron bar from its brackets, setting it down to one side. "Here." I hand her the zat and get to work.

Click-click-done.

Child's play, pretty much as expected. These are the doors they generally leave open, after all. The inner sanctum's where the challenge is going to be.

"Let me take that." I retrieve my zat from Teyla. "Open the right-hand door. I'll cover you." I crouch down behind the left-hand door, making sure to keep low. I have my mirror handy, using it to check the shrine interior as she slowly pulls the heavy door open.

Two guards. Two pulses of zat fire. Two unconscious bodies.

Okay, given the doors were barred from the outside, there has to be a back entrance. I strongly doubt those guards would have been happy about being locked in there, otherwise. I mean, they could be that trusting, but I don't think so.

We slip inside the shrine, and I tug the door closed again behind us. (Yes, it may cost us precious seconds on our escape. On the other hand, the sound of that thing creaking open will easily alert us to any unexpected visitors. Cost versus benefit.) Teyla moves the unconscious guards behind a bench, while I quickly check the room.

Large, open plan, with lots of little nooks and plinths and cubbyholes for the artful display of various well-crafted items. (Lots of places to hide.) Scattered benches for people to sit and admire the displays. A clear area in the centre holding a few rows of pews facing a lectern. (Do the Amata have sermons? I really don't know.)

Doors around the edge of the room, all standing open (more displays of craftsmanship visible on the other side), apart from two.

Ah. Unless I miss my guess, here's the back door.

"Cover me," I say, handing Teyla the zat gun.

Again, not exactly a challenge. We still take the same precautions as earlier before cracking it, but the space beyond is unoccupied. Wonder where it leads...

I don't lock it again, but with Teyla's help I drag a bench in front of it, close enough that anyone opening the door from the other side is going to make some noise.

Aha!

And *there* is the door to the inner sanctum. Correction: to the vestibule of the inner sanctum. Apparently it was open earlier. Closed and locked now, of course, but it's not like that's going to stop me.

A *little* bit more of a challenge than the main door and the back door, but not by much.

By now, passing the zat gun back and forth has become something we can do automatically.

The vestibule is unoccupied. (And very pretty. The whole shrine is, actually. I've got to hand it to the Amata. They really have a talent for beauty.)

Time to pass the zat gun again.

Hmm. This door is actually something of a challenge. Similar design to one of the Iatha-Kessman-Ei Inviolate series, circa mark four or so. Not identical, of course, but built along the same lines. Ooh, this takes me back a bit.

(When was the last time I cracked something like an IKE? That would be... the time I acquired that personal gravity shift device on Draconis Four. Lady Keridwen Silverblade's estate. I remember *her* alright. Kind of wish I'd remembered at the time that she ran her own mercenary company, and that they were based out of her estate, but it all worked out fine in the end.)

I start to hum a little under my breath as I feel my way around the tumblers, learning their quirks and responses. This is *fun*.

"Can you open it?" Teyla asks, sounding worried.

And... there we go.

"All done!" I whisper back, holding out my hand for the zat.

"So quickly?"

I shrug. "I'm pretty good at this."

As we both get into position, she turns a calculating gaze my way. "So I am beginning to realise."

The inner sanctum proves to be empty of people, much as I suspected. It is, however, full almost to bursting with *stuff*.

Wow.

I can feel my eyes widen as I take it all in.

"The Amata have collected one or two things over the years, then," I say, faintly.

"It would appear so." Teyla shakes her head. "I suppose we had better get started."

 

* * * * *

 

We have to make camp well before nightfall; much earlier than we hoped, but much later than I expected. Alas, there is no convenient little waystation waiting for us this time.

Cue weary sigh.

(I didn't actually expect to find one, not really, but I guess on some level I was kind of hoping. Just a little.)

(You can't blame a girl for hoping.)

Still, we *do* find a river. That's definitely something. Clear river water *definitely* beats stuff from a raintrap; hands down, no contest. (I may not have actually been able to taste the spiders, but I *know* they were in there. It doesn't matter how many meshes and filters you have, the little buggers always find a way.)

And there are fish in the river! Fish that Teyla assures me are edible. After the paste that passes for Tau'ri ration packs, that's certainly something to look forward to.

Our first priority, of course, is dealing with Teyla's injuries.

Actually, no. Technically, our first priority is establishing the campsite, starting the fire and heating some water so we can boil the blood-stained bandages into something approaching sterility. Okay, more like: something not completely plague-ridden. Unfortunately, that's going to have to do.

We still have hydrogen peroxide. And we're more than likely going to reach the chappa'ai tomorrow, aren't we? It's all going to work out fine.

(She's going to be fine.)

But anyway.

After all that, first aid is definitely next on the list.

It's... not a pleasant task.

(I don't want to think about it.)

*Much* more pleasant is the thought of fish grilling over the fire.

Hang on a minute...

"Teyla?"

She looks up from her contemplating the remaining contents of the packs, her eyebrows raised enquiringly.

"Yes?"

"These so-called edible fish you said are in the river..."

"What of them?"

"How do we get them *out* of the river?"

"I was just checking to see if there was anything usable as a line, but it seems that there is not. You will have to tickle them out instead."

I frown.

"Tickle them out? That sounds... faintly perverted." Belatedly, I parse another part of that sentence. "Hey, wait a minute: *I'm* going to perform this potentially depraved act? What happened to 'we?' Or, better yet, 'me'. Referring to you, I mean."

She meets my indignation calmly.

"I am reluctant to risk tearing my wound open again," she says mildly, and I immediately feel like a fool.

"Right. Of course." I give her a sheepish look. I can't believe I actually forgot. "You're going to have to talk me through it, though. I'm not sure I've ever caught a fish in my life."

"It is simple," she says, reassuringly. "A woman as graceful as you should have no trouble picking up the skill."

I preen a little at the compliment. It's true, of course. I *am* pretty physically adept, and I learn fast.

How hard can this really be?

You know, you'd *really* think I'd have learned better by now. Needless to say, the universe -- or a particularly malicious voyeuristic Ascendant? -- was obviously listening in on that particular idle thought.

Needless to say, those words have come back to bite me, and they bit hard.

Luckily, the only real casualty was my dignity.

My poor, battered dignity.

So, it's later now. Time has passed since my ill-thought words were thunk. Er, thought. Events have proceeded. Things have happened. Mistakes have been made.

Teyla is making a valiant effort not to laugh herself sick.

At least, I assume she is, by the fact that she isn't. Isn't laughing, that is.

And I...

I am *sulking*.

I'm sitting as close to the fire as I can get without burning myself, scowling into the flames. They dance merrily in their little pit, crackling to themselves as if they're laughing at some private joke.

I think they're mocking me.

My damp clothes steam lightly in the heat. I shift position a little to try to make sure they dry evenly. And that they don't freeze solid in the places where they're still damp.

Ugh.

"We will never speak of this again," I mutter darkly, resisting the urge to glower in Teyla's direction.

"Speak of what?" she asks, innocently.

Ha.

I'm wise to your shenanigans, Teyla Emmagan.

But I'm also not going to call you on them. Not in this instance.

At least this way, I may be able to preserve the illusion of having some shreds of dignity left.

Oh, well.

The delicious aroma of grilling fish goes some way towards pulling me out of my funk. It smells *divine*. My stomach rumbles.

"Are they ready yet?" I ask, a little more plaintively than I mean to.

Teyla leans over and pokes the fish with a stick.

"Almost," she says cheerfully. "Just another few minutes."

I'll take her word for it. The cooking is her department, along with all the cleaning and the gutting and other messy stuff.

Honestly, it was the least she could do. I caught the damn things after all.

Eventually.

But as soon as that first bite fills my mouth, all that effort and -- let's be honest -- humiliation is worth it; would be worth it a thousand times over.

"Mmmmm," I almost moan.

Teyla smiles around her own mouthful of fish, chewing and swallowing with more delicacy than I think I'm even capable of right now.

"I take it that you approve?"

I nod enthusiastically.

"I think this might just be the best thing I've ever tasted." Even without some kind of marinade, or the simple luxury of butter. It's amazing what a difference desperation makes.

Her smile widens.

"I am glad you like it."

We make short work of dinner, Teyla inhaling hers almost as quickly as I do, which is pretty damn fast. When we're done, we both huddle down into our sleeping bags and scooch in close to the fire. This place gets *cold* at night. I hadn't realised how much of the chill the waystation kept at bay.

I miss that little stone building. I know we only spent one night there, but still. It was cosy. (We kissed there.) I miss it.

"We will need to bank the fire soon," Teyla murmurs, her voice drowsy.

"Must we?" I sigh, snuggling deeper into my not-nearly-thick-enough sleeping bag. "It's so nice."

"If we do not, we risk setting ourselves on fire. Or the flames guttering out. Either would be bad."

"I suppose so." I sigh again, exaggeratedly, struggling to sit upright and free my arms. "Fine. I'll do it."

"I was not suggesting-"

"I'm offering, alright? Anyway, I'm already out in the cold. What do I have to do?"

Teyla frowns, but she gives instructions. It... actually isn't that hard. Anyway, it isn't like I haven't done this before.

Yes, I know I've been making a big fuss about hating the countryside, and that actually camping out in it is a masochist's activity. That's still objectively true, don't get me wrong. But despising something doesn't mean I don't know how to do it.

At least most of it.

At least in theory.

You never know when you might need to build a fire, or set a snare.

I never have caught a fish before, though, and certainly not like that. Not sure I ever want to do that again, honestly, and emphatically not when there might be anyone else around to see.

Still, it *was* tasty.

"I'll take first watch," I say, in a reasonably cheerful tone. "You concentrate on getting some rest."

Silence.

Has she already fallen asleep?

I glance over in her direction, but the light is too dim for me to make out much of anything apart from a vague outline. (Plus my night vision's a little shot from looking into the fire.) In the end, I wriggle over to her.

(Yes, it probably would be easier if I got out of the sleeping bag. Yes, I probably do look rather like a gigantic deformed caterpillar. But, as I've said before, it is bloody cold out here. I am not going to leave the dubious warmth of my snug little cocoon until and unless I have to.)

(So there.)

"Teyla?"

Her eyes are open, but they're glassy, staring blindly into the night. She's shivering; small, jerky tremors wracking her whole body. I press my hand against her forehead. The skin is cold and clammy, which can't possibly be good, but at least she's not running a fever.

Delayed shock, perhaps?

"Teyla," I call again, louder this time.

What can I do? I can't leave her like this. I have to snap her out of it, bring her back from wherever she's gone. Bring her back to the real world.

In the end, there's really only one thing to do.

I kiss her lightly, my lips gentle on hers as I caress her face with my fingertips.

"Teyla," I murmur once more, and maybe the third time's the charm, for she finally starts to respond. Her eyelids flutter rapidly and she kisses me back, reaching up one trembling hand to cover mine, pressing my fingers against her cheek.

"Vala," she breathes into my mouth.

I pull back a little, smiling at the small, disappointed noise she makes in her throat as I look into her eyes. Better. Much better.

She's definitely more with it now, more focused. And the hunger in her eyes suggests she is more than happy to continue this little diversion.

I think I can find it in my heart to indulge her.

Anyway, it's time to balance the scales from last night.

My lips find hers again, but this time I lean into the kiss, gentleness blossoming into ardent passion. I capture her mouth; possessing it, claiming it. Her lips part to allow me to slip my tongue within, encouraging -- demanding -- that I caress and explore, meeting and matching my ardour with her own.

I capture the lower lip between my teeth, nipping gently, delighting in the way she gasps and shivers, kissing away any possible sting. She kisses me back with a fervour that makes me wish that we could follow this thing all the way down, to let the current take us where it will, but we can't.

Not here. Not yet.

But in the meantime...

She's not the only one who can provide motivation.

"What was that?" she asks me later, still a little breathless.

I give her an indulgent smile.

"That was a kiss, Teyla," I say sweetly, parroting her words from last night. "I would've thought you'd recognise one of those."

"Yes, but..." She trails off, combing her fingers through her now somewhat-tousled hair. "There are kisses and then there are *kisses*." She smiles, the expression seeming almost feline on her delicate features. "It appears that you have hidden talents."

I preen a little at the praise.

"Well," I say modestly. "I was a goddess of sacred pleasure and sexual ecstasy for a while. I may have picked up a few tricks along the way."

I start to say something else, but then I see the way her gaze sharpens with interest.

Uh oh.

Good move, Self. Give the mistress of social-fu a reason to start poking at things best left alone.

Sometimes, I almost think I could perhaps, maybe, possibly stand to think a little more before I speak. On occasion. If I had a flaw, maybe that would be it.

(Sometimes it feels like I can talk myself into trouble almost as easily as I can talk myself out of it.)

Teyla gives me a considering look.

"You were a goddess?" she asks.

I laugh lightly.

"Darling, we're all goddesses in our own way." Some of us a little more literally than others. She looks like she's going to speak again, so I continue. "Although there was this one time when I was on a little backwater planet looking for... Well, that doesn't matter. The natives were holding a quaint little Summer festival at the time and they invited me to take part. Very hospitable people, the..." What were they called again? "They were," I say instead.

"Vala," she murmurs.

"Anyway," I carry on regardless. "To cut a long story short, I ended up accidentally activating an artefact they were using as an altar and so they thought this meant I was destined to be their Summer Queen. Easy mistake to make, I suppose. I do look very regal. It's the cheekbones. And the nose. I've always been rather partial to my nose."

Teyla has a small, puzzled frown on her face now, and she's watching me like she's not sure what to make of my sudden verbosity. I give her a rueful smile and keep speaking, letting the words tumble out in a rush and barely pausing to breathe. If she can't get a word in edgewise, she can't ask me any awkward questions.

All I have to do is keep talking until she either gives up or falls asleep. Whichever comes first. (My money's on the latter.)

"I tried to correct their assumption, of course, but I just couldn't seem to get through to them. And they just seemed so *happy* about the whole thing that I couldn't bring myself to spoil their fun. I figured they'd just stick a crown on my head, parade me around for a bit, have me bless some children, maybe officiate a wedding or two, and everyone would eat, drink and be merry." I sigh dramatically. "Of course, they didn't *tell* me the whole point of the Summer Queen was for her to be offered up to the gods as a sacrifice once the celebrations were over. To ensure a good harvest, or some such nonsense." I shake my head sadly. "No wonder they were suffering from a severe shortage of volunteers."

"Vala," she says again. Apparently, she hasn't given up just yet.

"Naturally, I didn't find this out until the following morning. And, alas, I had... indulged... a little during the festivities the night before." I pull a face. "Well, okay. Maybe I'd indulged rather a lot. Wine, dancing, other entertainments... So it took me a little while to figure out that the bathing and the anointing and the fancy clothes weren't just for another party. Fortunately, I've *always* been good at improvising. I-"

"Vala!" This time, she uses her stern voice, and it pretty much stops me in my tracks. I scramble to pick up the thread of my tale; to come with something, anything, so I can just keep talking. But before I can, she asks, in a much gentler tone: "What is wrong?"

I wave a hand.

"Wrong? Why should anything be wrong? Apart from you interrupting my story just as I was getting to the good part, of course."

She leans forward, placing her hand over mine, holding my gaze with her own.

"You do not have to dissemble with me, Vala. If I have upset you in some way, then I apologise." I start to say that she hasn't, of course she hasn't, but it's now her turn to roll over interruptions and just keep speaking. "If you do not wish to speak about it, whatever it is, then simply tell me and I will leave the subject alone. But if you do wish to speak, if you *need* to speak, then know that I am here, and I am more than willing to listen. That is all."

"I-"

She taps her finger lightly on my lips, cutting off whatever it was I had been about to say.

Honestly, I have no idea what was going to emerge from my mouth. It's probably just as well she interrupted me.

"Do not answer right way," she says. "Just breathe for a moment or two. Think it over. I will be right here." She smiles, suddenly. "Although, if you wait too long, I warn you that I may very well fall asleep. For some reason, I seem to be feeling a little tired."

"I can't imagine why that would be," I say dryly. "It's not like you've been exerting yourself, or are walking wounded, or anything like that."

She shrugs.

Now that she's mentioned feeling tired, I'm beginning to realise the extent of my own exhaustion. This does not bode well for my watch.

Maybe talking to Teyla for a little while will help me wake up a little.

And, just like that, I realise I've made my decision.

I look away for a moment, gathering myself, and then turn back to face her.

"I was a Goa'uld host once," I say, simply.

She nods slowly, as if she was expecting something of the sort.

"Please tell me."

And I do.

I tell her about Qetesh, about how the evil sluglet overrode my will and forced me to watch as she committed atrocity after atrocity. I gloss over the details somewhat, hurrying on to the part where a rebel faction of Goa'uld instigated a rebellion against the bitch-queen's rule and took advantage of the confusion to get her out of my head.

Teyla wants to know more about the Tok'ra, so I talk about the strange, consensual 'blendings' formed between this faction of allegedly not-evil Goa'uld symbiotes and their apparently willing human hosts.

(I think the idea horrifies her, just a little, even as it fascinates her.)

(I can understand that.)

I also tell her about the second time the Tok'ra rescued me. The time that Qetesh's former subjects -- her former victims -- managed to get their hands on me and decided to have themselves a little revenge party.

(No matter how hard I tried, there was nothing I could say or do to convince them that I wasn't her, that Qetesh had vacated the premises. And I tried. Oh, I tried and tried.)

(If the Tok'ra hadn't showed up when they did, I don't know what I would have done. I would have done something, I'm sure. Come up with a plan, or scheme; found a way to escape.)

(But I'm very, very glad the Tok'ra were there.)

"It would certainly have been ironic," I say, aiming for wry but ending up more in the vicinity of bitter. "Finally free of Qetesh, only to suffer death by mistaken identity."

(Although, honestly, I'm not sure it would have made a difference if they *had* understood the situation. The people needed closure and Qetesh wasn't there. I was.)

(Logic and catharsis aren't necessarily on speaking terms, after all.)

Teyla reaches out and puts her hand on mine. I search her eyes, ready to pull away at the slightest trace of anything that looks like pity, but all I see is compassion. Maybe even understanding.

Reaching out with her other hand, she smooths back a stray lock of hair from my cheek, then leans forward and touches her forehead to mine, and we just stay like that for a little while. Not speaking, not moving, just sitting there.

Together.

It feels... oddly comfortable.

But I'm a restless soul by nature, and eventually (okay, maybe not *that* eventually) I start noticing little distractions. Small, niggling things like the tickle in my nose that's turning into a full-blown itch, like the way my neck *really* doesn't like this angle.

Like the small rustling noises that might mean the local wildlife are thinking about snagging themselves a midnight snack or two.

I wonder if she's fallen asleep.

"You are a strong woman, Vala Mal Doran, and a good woman. Never doubt that." (I absolutely do not jump as she speaks unexpectedly. No way, no how. Vala Mal Doran does *not* jump.) "I grieve that this befell you, but I rejoice that you have come through the experience as the person that you are. Thank you for sharing this chapter of your story with me."

"Umm..." I almost say 'you're welcome,' but that would be ridiculous. What exactly are you supposed to say in this kind of situation? "Thank you for listening."

She sits back and inclines her head to me.

"I hope that it was helpful."

I think about that for a moment, somewhat startled to realise that maybe I actually do feel a little... lighter.

"You know," I say slowly. "I think it actually was."

I mean, it isn't like I haven't told other people, like my team-mates (friends) in SG-1. Hell, most of those have actually *been* hosts at one time or another, and all of them have known people that it happened to. They could understand what it was like in a way that most people simply can't.

And yet, something about Teyla's simple acceptance seems to ease a tension I hadn't even realised was there.

At least for now. I mean, I'm not so starry-eyed that I think one little chat is going to magically solve any hypothetical issues that may theoretically be left over from Qetesh's tenancy in my head.

But for now, it really does help.

(I almost start to wonder if there are other things I could speak of with Teyla. Things like Adria, and the Ori, and that whole nightmarish mess.)

(Almost.)

(Not yet, though. Too soon.)

Anyway, enough of this touchy-feely crap. That blow to the head must be affecting me more than I thought. Not to mention all the stress and exhaustion.

This has been a very trying couple of days.

I take a deep breath and sit up straight.

"Right, young lady," I say sternly. "Storytime is officially over. It's time for you to get some rest. Come on, chop chop."

Teyla takes the sudden change of tone in her stride, looking distinctly amused.

"Do I not even get a goodnight kiss?"

I can't help laughing at that. How did I ever think she might be humourless?

"Well, since you ask so nicely..."

Obliging her isn't exactly a hardship.

Compared to earlier, the kiss is sedate, almost chaste. A gentle brush of my lips on hers.

Okay, maybe not that sedate. Or chaste.

Either way, she seems to appreciate it.

"Goodnight, Teyla," I say, smiling. "Pleasant dreams."

"Goodnight," she replies, and I flatter myself she sounds just the slightest bit breathless. "Do not forget to wake me when it is my turn to watch."

"I won't." Well, I won't forget. I might choose not to wake her, but that's a whole different matter. We'll see what her condition is at the time. And how sleepy I am. "Now go to sleep."

 

* * * * *

 

"So. The bomb would be the decorative silver pyramid with the ominously blinking lights, yes?"

(Actually the light display is quite pretty, making the thing look more like an ornament than a bomb. Maybe the Ancients liked even their weapons to be decorative. Or maybe this was supposed to pass as a mere harmless trinket until it was triggered. Hmm. Sneaky.)

"That seems most likely," Teyla agrees. And, as far as I can tell, the energy reading from the scanner in my hand side with her. "Unless you think there two active devices here," she adds.

"Don't," I say, shuddering a little at the thought. "Although, maybe we should take just take everything in this display cabinet? Just to be on the safe side."

Teyla gives me a sidelong glance. "We cannot carry all of them," she points out.

"I know, but..." I sigh. "Give me a moment."

I let my eyes drift half-closed, reaching out with my mind in a way that feels so instinctive that it sometimes comes as a shock to realise that I wasn't born with it.

It turns out that using my shiny new ATA gene is not dissimilar to using whatever it was that the Goa'uld left behind, so many of the techniques I've practiced for using and analysing Goa'uld devices also apply to Ancient ones.

(So, thank you, Qetesh.)

(You bitch.)

(Actually, the ATA gene and the Goa'uld stuff seem to interact in a sort of symbiotic manner. A few glitches here and there, but nothing I can't figure out. Nothing that should have stopped me receiving the treatment, whatever Sam thought. Anyway, people with naturally occurring Ancient genes have become hosts, and *they* didn't explode.) 

(At least, I haven't heard if they did.)

(A thought which was less than comforting when I had it shortly *after* injecting myself.)

I lightly brush my senses over all the devices in the same case as the pyramid.

(Maybe I should get that nice Dr Biro to run a few tests. Discreetly. I do not want to have to explain to Elizabeth how I talked one of her staff into letting me acquire the treatment after being explicitly denied it at the SGC.)

(Permission, forgiveness... It's a theme of my life.)

"Nothing else is active," I inform Teyla. "That's our bomb."

"Can you get it out of there?" she asks, eyeing the lock dubiously.

"Of course," I say, my tone gently chiding. Did she not see me get through that door like a hot knife through butter? "Just give me some room to work, and watch my back."

I examine the lock. Hmm. Okay, this is a tough one. Fortunately, I am Vala Mal Doran, Scourge of Locks! And I can not only defeat it, I can do so with *style*.

First things first... No obvious traps. Ooh, there's an unobvious trap, though. Spring-needle, probably hollow. Loaded with poison? Sedative? From what I've seen of the Amata, the latter seems more probable. If it's even loaded at all. This is pre-culling, likely. Maybe they don't even know about it. Of course, that also means it may be full of poison after all.

Maybe it's dried up or gone off over time?

Not that it matters. It isn't like *I'm* going to come a cropper, after all.

"Needle trap," I inform Teyla. "Clever one, too." Okay, more sneaky than clever, but I don't think she's going to know that.

"Is it a problem?"

"Nope. Already disarmed." I frown. "The tumblers are a little stiff, though. I guess this one hasn't been opened for a while. Luckily, I have oil." Bracing my picks one-handed, I reach into my belt pouch for the tiny can, carefully dribbling a few drops of the thick, dark liquid where the mechanism seems the stiffest. Wouldn't want to overdo it. "This stuff is made on an out of the way planet in the Milky Way," I comment. "It's self-spreading and extremely concentrated, so little goes a long way." I seal the canister and return it to my pouch.

"Self-spreading?" Teyla asks, sounding interested.

"Something to do with surface tension and electrostatic forces, I think. Science-y stuff."

I have to admit, I don't really care how it works, only that it does. And it seems to be working just fine. The recalcitrant tumblers start to move a little more freely, letting me manipulate them just *so*. Just a little more, and...

"It's open," I say, a little unnecessarily as the door to the case now swings open.

"Could there be more traps within the case?"

I'm searching for them even before Teyla draws breath to ask the question. A set up like this, it's only sensible to check before picking anything up.

(Not that I've ever found a temple *quite* so full of such elaborate counter-intrusion methods as the ones in those... Montana Jones? films that Jack made us watch on one team movie night. I remember that Daniel turned such an *interesting* shade of red at certain parts. And he exclaimed a great deal. I found his reactions almost more entertaining than the films themselves. I suspect that may have been one reason for Jack's choice.)

"There's a pressure plate, but it's not actually connected to anything." Something else that's simply been 'collected' by the Amata? "It's safe." I think about what I've just said, and then amend it to: "Well, as safe as picking up a live bomb can ever be."

"Do you think you could de-activate it?"

"Maybe? Not with anything like one hundred per cent confidence. I'd rather just get it out of here. If it seems like it's about to blow up in our faces, I can try it then." I smile a little grimly. "Nothing to lose at that point."

Teyla also looks grim. "Agreed."

I swallow hard, really not wanting to say what I'm about to say.

"I'll carry the bomb. You take the zat."

She cocks her head. "Are you sure? You are familiar with the zat and I am not."

"But I'm the only one who has a chance of shutting down the bomb if it goes critical. And I think that would be easier if I'm actually in contact with it."

Damn my sense of... whatever the hell this is.

Oh, well. If it does go up, at least it'll be quick. Before I can change my mind, I reach out and (carefully!) pick up the bomb.

It... does not go boom. Yet.

So far, so good.

"Okay, let's get out of here."

"Main entrance or back way?"

I think for a moment, running through the map I've been putting together in my head since we first got to this city. Possible routes to the puddlejumper from here, chances of encountering guards...

"The back way. Assuming that I'm right about where it leads" -- and I am assuming that, because I *am* right -- "it should be slightly quicker. Less busy, too."

"Then let us be on our way."

"You don't have to tell me twice!"

The journey to the puddlejumper is a mad dash, the details of which mostly escape me because gods above and below I'm holding a 'city killer' *bomb* in my hands.

That... kind of takes up a lot of my attention, to be honest. I have enough spare to get us to the jumper, and to keep half an ear out for company. That's it.

Teyla has to zat a person or two along the way. It happens. She picks up the weapon pretty easily, actually. It strikes me all of a sudden that I could do a lot worse than her as a partner in crime. No, heroism. We are officially being big damn heroes right here.

If this does turn out to be how I meet my end, I really want everyone to know that Vala Mal Doran went out as a *hero*.

Damnit.

Anyway, Teyla and I work together pretty well. Who would've thought?

We reach the jumper, which opens welcomingly for us as we pound towards it. (Well, I *was* thinking something along the lines of 'openopenopenopendamnyou*open*' as soon as we got close.) It closes behind us with just as much alacrity. I carefully sit myself in the pilot's seat and, umm...

"What should I do with this?" I ask, hating the forlorn note in my voice.

My earlier point still applies, but I don't think I can hold onto the bomb *and* pilot the jumper at the same time.

"Give it to me." Teyla sits and holds out her hands. Carefully -- very carefully -- I pass it over to her. I think we both hold our breaths.

No boom this time either.

Everything's turning up Vala.

Okay, let's get this show on the road.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts. (And to figure out the controls of this thing. It's just a ship, right? How hard can it be? I've been able to fly pretty much anything I've put my mind to for a long time, now. Maybe even since before Qetesh.)

"Is there a problem?"

Teyla's composure is perhaps just a hair less perfect than I've been used to, but then she does have a bomb in her lap. I think I'll let her off just this once.

"No problem," I answer cheerfully. "Just refreshing my memory regarding how to fly this thing."

(And by 'refreshing my memory' I mean 'pretty much learning from scratch.')

(But it's not a problem. I can do this. I can do this.)

The puddlejumper takes off smoothly.

Hey, I *can* do this!

I knew I could.

"Where to?" I ask my passenger, who's eyeing the cargo worriedly.

"What? Oh, head to the northwest. That will take us away from the city, the farmland and the stargate. There is no danger of us running into another settlement -- there are none in this part of the continent."

"Okay..." With a little bit of trial and error, I manage to figure out a route and... off we go!

Huzzah!

Hey, these things can move at quite a clip, can't they? And they seem to be pretty manoeuvrable, despite the fact they look a little boxy and barge-like.

I hope the jumper didn't hear that.

Nice jumper, good jumper. Do your best for Captain Vala, alright?

"Ah, Vala?"

Just as I register the traces of panic -- well, very strong concern -- in Teyla's voice, I also notice something else. A little niggling feeling that I *thought* was coming from the jumper, but is actually coming from...

Oh, hell.

I turn to look at the bomb, which is now glowing even *more* ominously, the pretty colours pulsing in a regular pattern.

'Down!' I think, frantically. We start to descend.

"The countdown just kicked up a notch or two," I tell Teyla. "I'm setting us down in a clearing. Dump the bomb out -- gently! -- and I'll try to get us out of the blast radius. Ready?"

She gets to her feet, carefully making her way over to the hatch. "Ready," she confirms, only looking a little grey around the edges.

The hatch is opening even before we've fully touched down, Teyla leaning out as soon as the gap is wide enough for her to fit.

A tense moment passes, then: "Go!"

She doesn't need to tell me twice.

The puddlejumper shoots off like a rocket, zooming away in response to my frantic mental commands to 'getusoutofhererightnownow*now*damnit!'

I'm listening out for the explosion, but it doesn't come, and I'm starting to think that we're going to be okay, that we're going to make it to safety, and maybe the bomb isn't even *going* to explode, and won't we all feel very silly *then* and we'll just-

BOOM!

 

* * * * *

 

"How much longer?" I wonder, squinting against the sun as I search the horizon for a familiar circular shape. If we're where I think we are, it should be coming into view shortly. Maybe when we get to the top of this hill.

"Five minutes less than when you last asked," Teyla murmurs. When I narrow my eyes at her, she adds: "If we are where I think we are, then we should reach our destination within the next couple of hours."

"Oh. Well, good. And not a moment too soon, if you ask me. Traipsing through the countryside is really *not* my idea of a good time."

"So you have said. Repeatedly."

"Well, it's true." I think about all the things I'm going to do when we get back to Atlantis. "You know, when we get back, I think the first thing I'm going to do is have a nice, hot bath. With bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles."

Mmm, heavenly. I can almost feel it now.

"That does sound pleasant."

I glance over at Teyla, giving her a sultry smile.

"Maybe we could share one."

"Maybe."

Her tone is a little too noncommittal for my liking so I start to marshal my arguments. From the obvious (it would be fun) to the environmental (water conservation is a noble goal) and everything in between. But before I can voice any of them, we crest the gentle but long incline, and I'm distracted by a flare of anticipation as I eagerly look to the horizon once more and see...

Not the chappa'ai.

"What?!"

The word bursts from my lips unbidden, shock stopping me dead in my tracks as my eyes are drawn to the unexpected yet familiar shapes of buildings silhouetted against the distant skyline.

A settlement.

No, *the* settlement. The one I thought was far, far behind us by now. The one I told Teyla it would be ridiculously bad idea to head for, given the circumstances under which we left it.

The one that apparently was our destination all along.

Why, that sneaky little...

Who does she think she is? Me?

I turn to Teyla, who has apparently been waiting patiently for me to process this little surprise, letting her see the fury in my eyes. She meets it with placid equanimity.

"You *lied* to me!" I accuse.

"I did not," she says, brazen hussy that she is.

"You *said* were going to the chappa'ai! Does that look like the chappa'ai to you?" I jab my finger in the direction of the town. "No, it bloody well does not! Ergo, you lied."

I cross my arms, daring her to try to wriggle out of that one.

"I never said we were going to the stargate."

I open my mouth to angrily refute that ridiculous claim, then almost choke as I realise that I can't. She talked about our destination a lot, but she never actually said what that destination was. Not specifically. I just... assumed.

"You *implied* that's where we were going," I say, trying not to sound as though the wind has been taken out of my sails somewhat. "You knew that's what I thought, and you sure as hell didn't correct me."

She shrugs. "True," she agrees, and then she even has the nerve to smile a little. "I did tell you that you make too many assumptions."

For once in my life, I find myself utterly lost for words. Fighting the urge to cross the short distance between us and shake the smug out of her (or kiss her silly; one of the two), I make a valiant effort to claw back my composure.

"Why didn't you *tell* me?" I all-but growl. "You didn't have to deceive me. I'm a reasonable woman; we could have discussed this."

"We did discuss it. And-"

"Barely," I mutter.

"And you were quite firm in your opinion," she continues, as if I'd never said a word. "Even if I had been able to convince you -- which was by no means a certainty -- it would have taken a great deal of our precious time." She shrugs. "In this instance, I judged it easier by far to ask for forgiveness rather than permission."

I'm a little horrified to hear myself let out a rather unladylike noise, somewhere between a snort and a splutter. It's *her* fault. This is what she's reduced me to!

"But you complained about McKay and Sheppard doing that exact same thing!" I point out. "Doesn't that just makes you a great big hypocrite? How can you even stand there and say that with a straight face?"

"I have worked alongside the Lanteans for some time now. It is possible that I may be starting to pick up some of their bad habits." She sighs, sounding not at all sincere. "It is a concern."

"Ha! Like you really care." Weirdly, maintaining a suitably disapproving demeanour is actually proving much harder than I'd like. There is a part of me -- a small part, but not an insignificant one -- that can't help admiring her audacity. Curse my treacherous heart! "Are you even going to apologise?"

She considers for a moment.

"I am sorry if you are upset by my actions."

For a moment, twin urges to sulk and to smile do battle within me.

Oh, what the hell?

I stalk angrily towards her, then lean in and kiss her hard on the lips.

"Call that an apology?" I murmur, smirking. "You're going to have to do *much* better than that if you ever want me to forgive you."

She kisses me back.

"I will try harder then," she replies, solemnly. "Although I suggest it would be better to wait until we have reached the settlement."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!"

"Agreed."

With the town in sight, we manage to maintain a relatively brisk pace the rest of the way. It probably helps that it's mostly downhill.

The town gates are guarded, of course. I don't think there are more guards than usual, but I'm not a hundred per cent sure. In any event, they seem to be ready for our approach -- or just on alert generally -- because one of the runners dashes off into the town as soon as we come into view. Some of the guards march out to meet us, approaching cautiously with weapons at the ready.

I resist the urge to say 'I told you so.'

"Let me handle this," Teyla mutters to me.

"Be my guest."

As the guards start to surround us, she steps forward, smiling broadly, and starts to speak.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may note that the rating has been bumped up. This may be due to the fact that there is sex in this chapter. :)

A wall of force slams into the puddlejumper, sending it careening wildly through the sky. The console smacks me in the face, hard, and then the seat does the same to the back of my head.

I try to stabilise us, to regain some semblance of control, but it doesn't work, nothing's working, nothing's *responding* and I realise with horror that the jumper is completely dead. Dead and hurtling through the air at a speed that means an impact we can't walk away from.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

No, not true. There's always a plan B.

*Always*.

I fumble in my belt pouch, my fingers closing on a smooth, ovoid shape, seeking out the slight depression on its side.

(Part of me wants to hit the button right away, but Teyla's still back there and I can't just abandon her. Can't and won't.)

Moving slowly and painfully, I turn in my seat, looking for Teyla.

There! Wedged beneath the seats. Good thinking, Teyla.

I swallow hard, take a couple of deep breaths, and jump.

Ow. Okay, that really hurt. Why don't these things have padding?

"Teyla!" I shout, practically screaming my lungs out to make sure she can hear me over the noise. (A crashing puddlejumper makes a hell of a racket. Who knew?) "Take my hand."

For one brief, awful moment, I think she's unconscious, perhaps even... But no. She wriggles one arm free from her improvised cocoon, clutching my outstretched hand in a surprisingly firm grip.

(Well maybe not that surprising. I've seen her biceps. Anyway, this is pretty much precisely the kind of situation that warrants a death grip.)

"Now, hold onto me. Get as close as you can." Moving carefully, trying to brace myself as best as I can so I don't get shaken loose, I manoeuvre myself down there next to her.

"Do you have a plan, or are you merely indulging a dying wish?"

Humour, in a situation like this?

Hey, that's *my* thing!

"I have a plan," I say, trying to project confidence. "Be ready to move with me when I give the word."

I just hope this thing works.

Raising my head a little, I try to peer through the windshield. I have to blink a few times to bring the view into focus, and even then it's still rather blurry. Still, the ground's big enough that I can't really miss it.

No pun intended.

And it's rushing up *awfully* fast.

Right.

Not quite yet. Soon... Soon...

(Out of nowhere, a thought pops into my head: this is not how I would have preferred to go down with Teyla... I choke back an utterly inappropriate laugh.)

Now!

"Move!" I yell.

We wriggle out from under the seats. The jumper spins wildly, throwing us off our feet. We cling to each other as if our lives depend on it.

I hit the button.

A glowing bubble of energy bursts into life, wrapping itself around the two of us, snapping into place with a pop that makes my hair stand on end.

(It worked!)

The rest is all bits and pieces. A flickering series of snapshots strobing through my mind, images swimming in and out of focus.

First impact.

The jumper breaks apart around us, pieces flying every which way. We hit the ground. The shield wavers and flickers, but holds.

Flicker.

We're hurtling through the air again.

Debris, everywhere. A seat, torn free from its moorings, strikes the shield a glancing blow, sending us arcing away at an angle.

Flicker.

Second impact.

The shield holds.

I see trees blurring past. A massive, splintered trunk heading right for us.

Flicker.

The shield is starting to falter now. Not enough juice, maybe. I pray to gods I don't believe it to let it last, to let it hold out long enough. We've come this far. Just a little while longer.

Please, just a little while longer.

Flicker.

Impact.

The shield flickers, gutters and finally blinks out to nothingness.

Flicker.

Pain.

Pain.

Darkness.

 

* * * * *

 

I think I must be in shock.

That's the only possible explanation for this feeling of unreality, for the way my head's spinning and I just can't seem to make head nor tail of what's going on around me.

I was *sure* the Amata were going to toss us in jail and throw away the key. Hell, I'd already started planning a daring escape, even rehearsing a superlatively classy 'I told you so' speech to deliver to Teyla as I rescued the pair of us from our inevitable fate.

Except...

Except that's not what happened.

Teyla delivered a pretty little speech; I remember that much. Something about the settlement being safe, about it being a time of rejoicing and asking the guards to take us to their leaders? Honestly, I wasn't really paying attention. Too busy assigning target priorities, and figuring out our exit strategy.

I must admit I was a little surprised that the guards actually seemed to listen to her, rather than immediately trying to clap us in irons and haul us into custody. (Hey, it's a tradition of mine.) I wasn't complaining, though.

When I noticed the commotion at the gates, I came within a hair's breadth of launching my attack right then and there, but Teyla -- still speaking, still calm -- casually reached out and wrapped her hand around my wrist. I could have easily broken free, of course, but for some reason I didn't.

And then a gaggle of people in robes reached us and started throwing flower petals! And thanking us! And shaking our hands!

I think that was the point at which I just gave up and went with the flow.

Things were a bit of a blur after that. A carriage turned up to whisk us away through the town, disgorging us outside the ambassadorial residences, from where we were hustled off towards our rooms to be bathed, patched up, perfumed and stuffed into fancy clothes.

Frankly, I was having flashbacks to that unfortunate Summer Queen incident.

Once again, I came very close to making a break for it. It was still a distinct possibility even when I was sitting there wearing nothing but bubbles. (I think it's fairly safe to say that they wouldn't have been expecting me to run while in the middle of a bath.) But there was Teyla, murmuring reassurances, telling me that everything was going to be alright.

(And this was most definitely *not* how I'd envisaged sharing a bath with her. Rather more crowded than I would've liked, for one. Though I could work with that, I guess. A bit too rushed for my tastes, though. Perfection does take time, after all.)

I thought we might finally have a minute or so to catch our breath (and for me to ask Teyla what the hell was going on), but apparently it wasn't to be. No sooner had we had the finishing touches put on our make-up when we were hustled out again and back into the carriage. A short ride later, and we've just been quick-stepped into a familiar-looking building and politely shoved into what seems to be a little waiting room just off the main foyer.

I barely have time to realise that the room is occupied before our escorts bow and take their leave, closing the door behind them, shutting us in with...

Sheppard and McKay!

Well, that's something. That is, I don't know what it *means*, but it's a relief to see them here, apparently whole and undamaged.

(Not that I was worried, of course. Not that I was at all concerned the Amata might take out any anger they felt at mine and Teyla's snatch-and-skedaddle on the two of them. Not really.)

(Not that we had a choice about it anyway. So why worry about something you have no power to change?)

(Why indeed..?)

Also, just like the two of us, they seem to have been freshly scrubbed and gussied-up.

Interesting.

If memory serves, a wide corridor leads from the foyer to the Great Hall where the Amata held their reception in honour of the Lantean trade delegation. Back when we first arrived on this world.

That seems so very long ago now.

Very long ago indeed.

And so here we are, *finally* given that moment to breathe, reunited with our comrades-in-arms, waiting for...

What *are* we waiting for, exactly?

"You're alive!" McKay exclaims in a loud whisper.

I focus on his words like they're a lifeline, letting them clear away some of the fog that's been dulling my senses.

"You don't have to sound so surprised," I sniff, tossing my gleaming hair back over my shoulder to add a touch of stylish drama to my retort. (And to show off my hair to its best effect. I really love what they've done with it. I wonder if I can persuade one of those girls to accompany me back to Atlantis as my personal stylist...)

McKay blinks owlishly.

"I'm not, I mean I'm-"

"He means we're very glad to see you," Sheppard cuts in. "Both of you," he adds, maybe a little grudgingly. Maybe.

I frown a little, opening my mouth to call him on that less possibly than enthusiastic addition, but Teyla gets there first.

"And we are glad to see both of you, also." She looks them up and down. "You look well," she notes.

"Yeah, well," Sheppard tugs at his collar a little, grimacing as if he'd rather just rip the thing open. I certainly wouldn't object, but, alas, he leaves it be. "Aside from locking us up, our hosts have treated us pretty well, I guess."

"The food here is *amazing*," McKay chimes in. "Even for prisoners. I wonder if there's any chance we might be able to import some of their chefs to Atlantis. Could we do that? As part of the trade agreement? If Elizabeth could just *taste* their cooking, I'm sure she'd agree."

Sheppard rolls his eyes outside McKay's sightline. The expression speaks volumes. I only just succeed in keeping back a chuckle. Teyla, of course, keeps her composure with seemingly no effort at all.

(Still, I know now that she can be discombobulated, and that's enough for me.)

"I thought they might have let us out after the big kaboom. You know, since that was pretty clear we were telling the truth and all. But they didn't." He shrugs laconically. "Still, it wasn't the worst prison I've been in. And, as McKay says, at least the food was good."

"I understand that the High Council have been having a... rather heated debate over what to do with you," Teyla says, in that understated way of hers. "I believe it would have been a contentious subject at the best of times, but the discussion was no doubt complicated by fallout from their recent political disruption."

Okay, I can't believe she can talk about *that* with a straight face. And didn't she tell me that the net result of the 'political disruption' would be to strengthen the Chief Tester's position? 'Complicated' doesn't sound like 'strengthened' to me. Although, I suppose it's going to take a little time for the dust to settle.

And they have had other matters to occupy their attention...

Anyway, when exactly did she have the chance to find out what's been going on in the Amata's (undoubtedly closed) Council chambers during our little field trip? We've been together pretty much constantly since we got back here.

You know, I just keep finding more reasons to admire that woman.

"In short," she concludes, I believe you remained where you were purely due to bureaucratic inertia."

"Because moving us anywhere else would have required an active decision." Sheppard nods. "Figures."

I must admit, he's taking this whole thing rather more calmly than I would've thought. He seems so laid back he's practically asleep.

At least on the surface.

Looking a little deeper, though, there's a tension around his eyes, and I can't help noticing he's somehow managed to position himself so that he's between the three of us and the door, guarding against any possible threat from that direction. Which is kind of sweet, actually, but it means he's not nearly as relaxed about all this as he seems.

Interesting to know.

"I tried to tell them they should let us help with the investigation," McKay says indignantly. "But they weren't having any of it! I did try, though."

"Yeah, Rodney, you were very trying." Sheppard has a slight grin on his face, a grin that only widens at McKay's indignant glare. "They asked us a bunch of questions, but there really wasn't a whole lot we could tell 'em."

"I beg to differ! *I* told them a great deal. It just..." McKay sighs heavily. "By the time they started listening, it was a bit too late to do any good. The puddlejumper was gone without a trace, you weren't answering your comms..." He looks away. In a small voice, he adds: "We thought you were dead."

Okay, I have to admit that gives me a pang. Just a small one. Apparently it also affects Teyla, for she moves to embrace first McKay, and then Sheppard, resting her forehead against each of theirs in that peculiar Athosian gesture.

(But she doesn't kiss either of them, so I still win.)

"Well, we are alive. And the four of us are all together again, so all is well."

"Hear, hear," I chime in heartily.

Sheppard suddenly turns his attention to me, his eyes twinkling with amusement as a lazy smile spreads over his lips.

(It's a pretty good look on him.)

"You know, Vala," he says, confidingly. "The guy in charge of the prison was actually quite chatty, for a warden. And he said some things I think you might be interested in."

"Jaran, you mean?" I ask, unsurprised when Sheppard nods in confirmation. He isn't really likely to mean anyone else. Well, there was what'shisname, I suppose. (Pavel? Philip? Whatever.) But he didn't really strike me as an 'in charge' kind of guy. More a 'follow orders' type. "What did he have to say?"

"Not said, really, so much as asked."

Oh, he's going to draw this out, isn't he? Have a bit of fun with it.

Well, fine. I suppose I can indulge him, at least a little.

But only a little.

"Alright. What did he ask?"

"He actually had quite a few questions."

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. I cross my arms and fix him with one of my more intimidating glares. It seems... less than effective. If anything, his smile gets even wider.

"Questions," I enunciate very carefully, the warning note clear in my voice. "About what?" 

Fortunately -- for him -- Sheppard apparently decides he's made me wait long enough.

"About you. He wanted to know all *kinds* of things. Are you single? What's your favourite colour, food, flowers, etc.? Did you really take out a Goa'uld system lord armed with nothing but a smile and a hairpin?" He pauses, shooting me a long, level look from under his beetling brows. "I'd kinda like to know the answer to that one myself."

"I'll just bet you would," I smirk. "But a lady doesn't kiss and tell."

McKay splutters. Teyla's lips curve upwards in the smallest of smiles. Sheppard just grins. (I'm winning him over, I can tell.)

"Yeah, well. Looks like you've made a friend there."

"It's a talent of mine," I proclaim airily. "I make friends wherever I go."

"Vala is a woman of many useful talents," Teyla interjects quietly. "That is how we managed to not only get out of here with the bomb, but also survive the experience."

"Yeah, about that..." Sheppard drawls.

"Yes! What actually *happened* out there?" McKay interjects, almost shouting in his sudden excitement. At Sheppard's wince and gesture, he continues more quietly. "What did you do? And how did you do it?"

I open my mouth to tell them, but Teyla gets there first.

"I will summarise," she says quietly, looking at me until I nod (only a *little* bit grudgingly), before going on to give a concise account of our actions.

It covers all the salient points, I suppose, but that's about all it does. All the facts (aside from the obvious omissions), and none of the drama. Honestly, it's more like a mission report than a story.

Which I suppose it is, really.

Oh well.

Frankly, I'm almost surprised Sheppard waited this long before demanding to debrief us. (Well, it was more of a request than a demand, but the point still stands.) I mean, they thought we were *dead*!

Which, of course, is a very good reason why they'd want a little time to process the fact of our survival before getting down to the nitty gritty of the how and why of it.

It's a very human reaction.

Teyla finishes her recap, and silence settles in the room as McKay and Sheppard chew it over. Suddenly, McKay mutters something unintelligible and his head snaps around, his gaze homing in on me like a missile finding a target.

"But you don't have the gene!" he exclaims.

Uh oh.

I roll my eyes dismissively.

"What, you keep track of the ATA gene status of anyone who visits Atlantis? Even non-Tau'ri?"

"Yes! Of course I do! Natural gene carriers are a rare and valuable resource. Every single one must be accounted for."

Of *course* he keeps track of them. Probably has a little spread sheet and everything. *Just* my bloody luck.

I shrug and try again.

"The gene therapy-"

"Is all well and good," he interrupts. "But isn't nearly as effective as the real thing." He spins abruptly on his heel to bestow a quelling look on Sheppard. "Don't you dare say a thing."

"Wasn't going to," Sheppard murmurs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He sounds exceedingly amused.

I start to think I've gotten away with it, but then McKay just as abruptly spins back to face me.

"Anyway, you weren't on the list for treatment."

"Let me guess," I say dryly. "You keep track of that too."

He rolls his eyes. "Well, duh."

Great. Just great. Now Teyla and Sheppard are both looking at me too, Sheppard with outright suspicion and Teyla with that little speculative look that means she's going to ask some penetrating question like: 'Vala. How, precisely, did you acquire the gene treatment again?'

"Oh, you know bureaucracies," I temporise. "A many-headed beast where the heads not only frequently aren't speaking to each other, they're often pulling in completely different directions. Is there any wonder things fall through the cracks? Like a name being missed off on one list, but being on another. It must happen all the time."

I need a distraction. Quick, quick! I glance around the room, wracking my brains for inspiration. "I- Wait!" I turn my gaze towards the door, letting a concerned frown crinkle my brow.

"Hey, can you hear voices?"

I'm not just making that up. Now that my senses are on hyper-alert, looking for a way out of this particular conversational minefield, I actually can hear voices. A distant susurrus, growing louder. Not like it's getting closer, I don't think. More like a group of people first murmuring quietly amongst themselves and then, as no one shushes them, gradually getting louder until they're back to their normal speaking volume.

Hmm. It doesn't *sound* like an angry mob, but I feel my pulse pick up anyway.

"Been noticing it for a couple minutes now," Sheppard says, quietly. "Sounds like there's a crowd gathering in the Great Hall."

He sounds as antsy as I feel. Well, he does when you filter out the characteristic Sheppard laconicness. (Is that even a word? I don't care. It works for me.) I'm half-surprised he hasn't advocated making a break for it already. Or, maybe he has, and I didn't notice. Maybe he and Teyla exchanged more of those tiny glances and gestures you either have to be psychic or to know the other person *really* well in order to understand.

Maybe they did that when the Amata first ushered us in here.

Maybe.

I guess it doesn't matter.

"So... do either of you have any idea what's going on? Why we're all dressed up to the nines?" I ask hopefully. I'm guessing not, but you never know.

"Not a damned clue," Sheppard mutters, sounding distant.

McKay gives me a wide-eyed look. "I thought *you* knew," he says, and I'm a little peeved to note that the question comes out sounding rather accusing.

"How would *I* know? We just got here." I shrug. "It's obviously a ceremony of some kind though, and it seems like we're going to be the guests of honour."

McKay blanches suddenly, his eyes widening.

"You don't think they're going to execute us, do you? Or... Or sacrifice us?" He glowers at Sheppard. "You said that wouldn't happen again!"

"Again?" I look him up and down. "You look considerably more alive than your average sacrifice victim."

"Well, *obviously* they didn't get to go through with it!" He waves away my question with an impatient flap of his hand. "But I do *not* want to go through that again."

"You and me both," I say with feeling.

McKay blinks.

"You too?"

I nod.

"I was on a backwater planet while the natives were holding their summer festival. I-"

"The Amata are planning to neither execute nor sacrifice us," Teyla breaks in, speaking firmly and calmly. "There is to be a ceremony of celebration. They wish to honour us for saving them from the bomb."

Silence follows Teyla's proclamation.

I watch McKay's whole thought process display itself on his face. Surprise. Disbelief. Acceptance. Relief. Triumph. Smugness.

"Well, it's about time," he mutters, looking highly pleased with himself, the world and everything in it. The news seems to invigorate him, straightening his spine and putting a twinkle in his eye. "Do you think there'll be food?" he wonders. "I hope there's going to be food."

I find myself in full agreement with both points.

"It is highly likely there will be some manner of refreshment served after the ceremony," Teyla answers. She gives McKay a fond glance, and then her expression sobers. "Now," she says sternly, looking at each of the rest of us in turn. "I suggest that we all accept this accolade with dignity, grace and..." Her gaze comes to rest squarely and unmistakeably upon McKay. "Circumspection."

Circumspection?

That puzzles me for only the briefest of moments before the penny drops and it all becomes clear.

Yes, telling the Amata that McKay may have accidentally triggered the bomb in the first place would... not be the best of ideas.

(Assuming he hasn't mentioned that already, of course, but I don't think *that's* likely. Anyway, we don't know for sure that pinging the device had anything to do with anything. The whole thing could just have been one massive coincidence. They do happen, after all.)

(Hell, they seem to happen to SG-1 on a semi-regular basis.)

(Personally, I still blame Ascended voyeurs.)

In any event, our escorts pick this moment to return, which rather puts the kibosh on any further conversation. Luckily, from the expression on McKay's face, I'm pretty sure he's got the message.

At least, I hope he has.

Without further ado the four of us are ushered through rows and rows of staring, murmuring Amata, and onto the stage where, unless I miss my guess, Chief Tester Fatima Khalil is waiting to honour us personally.

Well.

What an unexpected, yet pleasant, turn of events.

Suddenly, I find a smile upon my face. I put my chin up, pull my shoulders back, and stride across that stage as if I own the place.

So, I'm finally going to be acknowledged as the hero that I am. It's about damn time!

I'd better make sure I look the part.

 

* * * * *

 

I sit up with gasp, and then freeze, wheezing and cursing.

Ow.

That *hurts*. And by that, I mean *everything*. My whole body feels like one gigantic bruise, and there's a massive throbbing pain behind my eyes, like someone's stabbing me repeatedly in the head with an ice pick.

They're not, are they?

Wait. It's all dark. Why is it dark? Am I blind? Am-

Oh.

Oh, right.

I force my eyes open, and then immediately wish I hadn't as a thousand fiery needles drive themselves into my brain. 

Ow, ow, ow.

Ow.

Ohhhh, I feel sick.

I take a few slow, deep breaths. I have to breathe through my mouth, because my nose feels... stuffy. I touch it lightly, and hiss a particularly foul Tau'ri swearword.

Ow. Broken, maybe? Too early to tell.

I start to think about opening my eyes again.

"Easy, Vala. Try not to move too quickly."

Teyla's voice is calm and soothing. I feel gentle hands on my back, supporting me, helping me remain sitting upright even though it feels like the whole world reels around me.

"What-" My voice cracks and fails. I clear my throat and try again. "What happened?" I manage to croak.

"We crashed." A concerned note enters her voice. "Do you not remember?"

Oh.

Oh, right.

The crash.

"Pieces of it," I say softly. "It's a bit jumbled."

"I am not surprised. You seem to have sustained several blows to the head."

I did?

(The console smacking me in the face.)

Oh.

I lightly touch my head, finding the softness of a dressing over my right eye. I refrain from touching my nose again.

"I have cleaned and dressed your wounds as best as I can," Teyla says. "I do not think your nose is broken, and your skull still seems intact."

"Hard-headed, that's me," I mutter, aiming for humour and ending up with something more forlorn.

Teyla chuckles a little. "I would not say that." Her voice becomes business-like. "Now, could you please open your eyes? I would like to check your pupils."

I grit my teeth. It hurts less this time, perhaps because Teyla is shading me from the merciless sunlight. I endure while she moves so the light stabs first my left eye, and then my right.

"Pupil response is normal," she notes absently. "Do you think you can stand?"

"Yes," I say, even though I'm not as certain as I sound. "But I'm going to have to take it slowly. Still a little dizzy."

"Lean on me if you need to."

Okay, the act of getting to my feet was not my *most* dignified, but after leaning on Teyla for a few moments, taking some deep and even breaths (my ribs feel a little tight, but nothing too serious), and having a swallow of water from a canteen Teyla hands to me, I start to feel... A little less like I want to lay down and die.

"I think I can stand on my own now," I venture, cautiously.

Teyla nods and withdraws her arms, but stands ready to catch me if I fall. I don't. I wobble a little, but I remain upright.

Good enough.

I turn to scrutinise Teyla.

"How about you? Are you injured? Do you need me to do anything?"

"Numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises, but I am otherwise fine. I have already tended my own wounds while you were unconscious."

I frown. "How long was I out?"

"I am not certain, precisely. Things were a little... confused, immediately after the crash. No more than twenty minutes or so, though. I think. I was just about to attempt to rouse you when you woke naturally."

"Thank you for tending my wounds," I say.

"You are more than welcome." She smiles at me, and then her expression turns serious. "Vala, you saved both of our lives with your quick thinking. If not for your shield device, I do not believe we could have survived the impact." She pauses a moment, holding my gaze. "Thank you."

She leans forward, and for a brief, confused moment, I think she's going to kiss me, but all she does is -- gently! -- rest her forehead against mine in what I seem to vaguely recall is an Athosian gesture of... something or other.

It's... nice.

(Even if I would have preferred a kiss.)

She draws back again.

"You're welcome," I say, smiling self-deprecatingly. "Although you really don't need to thank me."

"I disagree," she says, softly.

The moment stretches awkwardly.

"So," I say; anything to break the silence. "What now? Last I checked, we were in the middle of nowhere..."

"I believe we are somewhere in the forest to the northwest of the town, a few days' walking distance from either the stargate or the settlement. The puddlejumper is..." she grimaces. "Not airworthy."

"Understatement and a half," I mutter. "Last I checked, it was in about a million pieces and being scattered far and wide."

"As you say." She takes a breath. "I am not certain whether it would be better to remain with the wreckage, or to try to make our own way to safety. The puddlejumpers have emergency beacons, but-"

"It's dead," I interrupt, bluntly. She blinks uncomprehendingly at me, so I clarify: "All the power cut out when the blast wave hit. Navigation, propulsion, shields, inertial dampeners; everything. It's why we came down so hard. Even if the beacon survived the crash, it's not broadcasting."

"I see." She clicks her tongue. "The Lantean radios also appear to be non-functional, perhaps for the same reason."

"Must have been an EMP. An electromagnetic pulse. Hmm." I turn over the thought for a moment or two, imagining something like that device going off in a starship, or in Atlantis itself. "I suppose McKay did call it a city killer..." I shake myself mentally, pushing through the cloud of dire what ifs. "I'm just glad it didn't knock out my shield."

"As am I," Teyla breathes fervently. She glances around, looking thoughtful. "I suppose this simplifies our decision somewhat. As you point out, the puddlejumper wreckage has been scattered over quite a wide area. There is no guarantee of its visibility from the air, and without a beacon to narrow down the search area, any rescuers would have no guarantee of locating us. We are not due to check in with Atlantis until the day after tomorrow, so help is unlikely before then in any event."

I nod. My thoughts exactly.

"We should make for the chappa'ai -- the stargate," I say, decisively.

Teyla cocks her head. "Not the settlement?"

I grimace. "Last time I checked, we'd knocked out a bunch of guards, broken into a shrine and made off with one of their holiest relics. And that was after consorting with so-called traitors. I don't think they like us very much right now. I think I'd rather take my chances with the stargate."

Teyla gives me a strange look. I wonder what's going through her head right now. In any case, she doesn't see fit to share her musings with me.

All she says is: "We should see what we can salvage from the wreckage. We have a long journey ahead of us, and I would rather begin as soon as we can."

"Agreed," I say, fervently.

I look around at the seemingly endless wilderness, my spirits sinking a little at the thought of the long, arduous trek ahead of us.

It could be worse, I know. We're both alive. We're both relatively uninjured.

It could be much, much worse.

But still: nature. Miles and miles of raw, untamed messiness. If you asked me, it could be improved immeasurably by the addition of a luxurious palace or two. Maybe a spa.

Ooh, if only. A spa sounds *heavenly* right now.

Buoyed by that thought, I redouble my efforts in the search for useful and usable stuff.

As far as I'm concerned, 'soon' isn't soon enough.

 

* * * * *

 

As soon as the door closes between us and the rest of the world, I let my smile fade, massaging my aching cheeks.

"Thank all the gods that's over," I sigh, kicking off my shoes and flopping down on the couch.

Teyla quirks an eyebrow at me, sliding her own boots off and standing them neatly beside the door.

"You did not enjoy the ceremony?"

"Oh, I did; very much. Especially the part where they gave me all this lovely, shiny stuff!" I gesture towards the table I fancy is groaning beneath its burden of swag. *My* swag. My just reward for services above and beyond the call of duty. "But I must have shaken a thousand and one hands today, and there are really only so many ways to say 'you're welcome' when people thank you for saving them from certain doom." I fall silent for a moment, thinking, and then turn to meet Teyla's gaze. "Why did you tell them it was mainly me?" I ask, softly. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful, but you didn't have to-"

"I simply told the truth," Teyla interrupts.

I lever myself up on my elbows, frowning. "But I didn't do it on my own," I protest. "You-"

"Could not have done it without you. I have not the skill to pick locks, and I could not have piloted the puddlejumper. That was all you."

"But-"

Teyla makes a frustrated noise in her throat, then sinks to her knees and kisses me thoroughly and firmly.

Wow.

"Why must you develop a sense of modesty just when it is least appropriate for you to do so?" she asks, when we finally break for air. "Just accept the praise as your rightful due, you infuriating woman!"

I blink a few times, then let a slow, wicked smile spread over my face.

"I knew I got under your skin," I murmur, brushing her lips with mine, and then trailing a line of kisses along the curve of her jaw and down onto her neck.

"I did not say that," she protests, but her voice is breathy and low, with no real force behind the words.

"Yes you did," I correct her, smiling against her skin, nipping gently with my teeth. "But it doesn't matter."

"Does it not?" she murmurs, and now her hands are on my hips, her fingers sliding up under my top to rest lightly on my skin.

"No," I say, and perhaps my own voice is just a little bit breathy as I start to loosen the ties of her robe.

"Why is that?" I don't answer right away, because I'm a little preoccupied with one particular knot that just... won't... yield. I pick at it with my nails, but it's being particularly recalcitrant. I'm starting to give serious thought to using my teeth when Teyla laughs gently and says: "Here, let me."

It seems to melt away at her touch, but that obviously just means that I loosened it for her. Obviously.

"You cheated," I accuse her, starting to unwind the sash that's now the only thing holding her robe closed.

"It simply required a little patience."

I bite back a small, disappointed noise as she withdraws her fingers from my skin, only to have my breath hitch a little in my throat as they start working at the fastenings of my bodice.

"Patience is overrated." I almost purr the words, pulling the sash free and starting to slide the robe down her shoulders, pausing to kiss my way along the length of her collarbone.

"Mmm... Oh, is that so?"

"Yes, it is. And I'm going to prove it." I wriggle out from beneath Teyla, snagging her hand to pull her with me when I stand up and stride determinedly across the room. She lets me drag her along, letting her robe fall carelessly to the floor at her feet.

Alas, she's wearing a whole other layer of clothing beneath; a leather vest and clinging silk underskirt.

Did I say alas? I mean, yum.

This is just like unwrapping a present.

(Okay, maybe there is a little something to be said for patience after all. Maybe. Perhaps.)

"Where are you taking me?" she asks, sounding amused.

"The bedroom, of course. We're back in civilisation now. We might as well avail ourselves of its comforts."

"Not the bath, then?"

"You're not supposed to get your bandages wet," I point out, not without some regret. "That means aquatic adventures are going to have to wait until you're healed."

I open the door to my room, hesitate a moment, then spin on my heel, crossing the suite again to Teyla's room. Yep, just as I thought.

"Your bed is bigger than mine!" I say, accusingly. My voice is perhaps a little more petulant than I would like, but I think I'm justified in being a little peeved. "How is *that* fair?"

"I *am* the official leader of this delegation," she points out. "And these are the rooms were originally assigned. Would you prefer to swap?"

"No, but we *will* be using your bed tonight."

"As you wish."

"Oh, I do," I murmur. "I very much do. Come on."

I tug her over the threshold and most of the way to the bed, where I let go of her hand and step back a couple of paces, looking her slowly up and down. She cocks her hip, giving me a challenging look.

"Do you like what you see?"

I nod. "You scrub up well, Teyla Emmagan."

Her lips curve in a sultry smile. "I could say the same about you."

She takes a step towards me, but I shake my head, wagging my finger at her sternly.

"Not so fast, Missy. Patience, remember?"

"I am being patient." Her words are calm, but there's a heat in her eyes that almost makes me jump her right then and there. "You are still clothed and upright, are you not? That speaks volumes as to my patience."

Oh.

Is it getting hotter in here all of a sudden, or is that just me?

I swallow quietly, covering my momentary loss of composure with a smouldering look.

"Why?" I say teasingly. "Would you like to take off my clothes and throw me on the bed?"

She twitches a little and, just for the briefest of moments, what looks like a guilty expression flickers across her face.

I blink.

"You *would*! You really would like to my rip off clothes and throw me on the bed!"

I guess it really is true what they say about the quiet ones.

Something tightens deep inside me, and it's about all I can do not to throw myself at her feet and beg her to do with me as she will. Instead, I very deliberately sashay towards her, swaying my hips, very conscious of how my half-unfastened bodice gapes open with every movement. Judging by the way her eyes flick down to my exposed cleavage, the way she licks her lips like -- I modestly fancy -- a starving woman confronted by an all you can eat buffet, she's conscious of it too.

"So, what are you waiting for?" I breathe.

For a moment she looks almost startled, but then she laughs lightly.

"I thought you wanted to make a point about patience."

"I think we both know my point has been very..." Brushing her lips with mine. "Firmly..." Cupping the swell of her breast through the leather vest. "Made." Relishing the way she gasps and shivers against me. "So, what are you waiting for?"

She leans forward to kiss me, slow and deep, which isn't quite what I was expecting, but I'm certainly not complaining. I return the kiss with enthusiasm, and when she breaks it to pull back a little, anticipation kindles a fire low in my belly. I can't help imagining her hands on my skin, rough and demanding, the thought bringing heat to my cheeks and making my skin tingle all over.

But she hesitates, looking down to avoid my gaze. Her body language tells me she isn't just gazing admiringly at my cleavage.

"I think perhaps you have misread me," she says softly, and I don't think I've ever heard this strong, confident woman sound so... tentative.

I don't think I like it. I don't like it at all.

I shift a little, moving my arms to wrap them around her in a loose embrace, startled all over again by the fact that she's shorter than me. (How *does* she manage to seem to tall most of the time?)

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," she says, gaze flinching away, obviously lying.

"Then why are you upset?"

"I am not upset." I stare at her in silence until she looks up to meet my eyes, raising my eyebrows sceptically. She at least has the grace to look a little shamefaced. "It is nothing you have done," she amends.

"So, what is it?"

For a moment I don't think she's going to answer, but then she shrugs uncomfortably and relaxes into my embrace. It's only now that I realise just how tense she was before.

"I am ashamed that I did not hide my weakness better."

Try as hard as I might, I just can't puzzle out her meaning.

"What weakness? Wanting to have sex with an attractive woman who wants to have sex with you?"

Because, from the time we've spent together, from our rather frank discussion of self-pleasuring techniques, from the way she flirted with me and then kissed me, that is absolutely the last kind of hang-up I would expect her to have. For one horrible, awful moment, I think I must have misjudged her terribly, that I've pressured her into something she doesn't want... But then I push the thought aside.

It isn't that. It can't be that.

So it must be something else.

"No, of course not," she says, chidingly. "How could that be a weakness?"

"Well, *I* don't think it could, but you're not really giving me a whole lot to go on here." I brush her hair back out of her eyes, resisting the urge to try to kiss the melancholy from her lips. (It's a difficult urge to resist.) "So, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She sighs softly.

"It was... What you said. What you saw in me. An... improper desire."

I'm ashamed to admit that my first response is to burst out laughing.

Oh, I rein it in right away, of course. And it isn't that what she said is all that funny. (Although it is, a little.) It's just... The worry and the tension and the wondering if it was something I'd done, and it's all about *this*?

"Darling," I murmur. "If wanting to tear a woman's clothes off and make wild abandoned love with her is 'improper,' then I don't ever want to be proper." The confused and slightly hurt expression on Teyla's face kills the mirth stone dead, and I give her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Teyla. I'm not laughing at you, honestly. I'm just relieved." I sigh. "I was starting to think I'd pushed you into something you weren't ready for."

"I kissed you," she points out, her tone a little tart.

"I started undressing you."

"I helped."

Huh. So she did.

Okay, that's cleared away any last, lingering traces of concern in that regard.

"Fine. So, we're both where we want to be. That's good. That's *great*, in fact. Excellent!"

"Indeed." She smiles. "Then shall we resume from where we left off?"

I step back and pose artfully, displaying myself to best advantage, looking at her through lowered eyelashes.

"Do with me as you will," I breathe.

"I-" She moves towards me, and then stops, looking uncertain.

I sigh.

"Look," I say forthrightly. "I don't know why you think your desires are improper. Honestly, it doesn't really matter right now. The only things that matter are you and me, and I'm telling you to do what you want with me. Whatever you want."

"What if I hurt you?" she says, her voice so soft I can barely make out the words.

"Let's keep this simple. If you do anything I don't like, I'll tell you to stop. Okay?" Silence. "Teyla, I'm not going to judge you, or think less of you." I give her a wry smile. "I have been around the galaxy a few times, you know. I've seen some things; done some things... Let's just say, I strongly doubt you'll be able to shock me." I take a breath. "I just want you to enjoy yourself." I shrug. "And enjoy me."

Teyla laughs a little.

"Well," she says, quirking an eyebrow at me. "When you put it like that, how could I possibly say no?"

"Exactly. You-"

Suddenly Teyla's mouth is on mine, hot and hungry and demanding. I swear I didn't even see her move! I'm not complaining, though.

Definitely not complaining.

She tangles the fingers of one hand in my hair, sliding her other hand down my back to first cup my arse, then squeeze proprietorially. Leaning into the kiss, she bends me slowly backwards until I have to clutch at her for balance.

Not that I'm remaining passive accepting throughout all of this, of course. I kiss her back just as hard, just as passionately, even if I am letting her take the lead. And my own hands are my no means idle.

I have to admit to gasping a little when she breaks the kiss, but before I can catch my breath -- and my balance -- she grasps my shoulders firmly and turns suddenly, bodily dragging me around with her.

(Wow. She really is strong; especially for a woman of her size. I approve. Particularly when she puts that strength to very good use.)

(And this is a very good use indeed.)

I can't help crying out as my back hits the mattress; a sharp "Oh!" of surprise, despite the fact that I was expecting (hoping for) just this very thing. My heart is pounding like a herd of elephants, and my skin is tingling all over in anticipation of Teyla's hands, of being bared to her.

But she freezes at my cry, sudden worry chasing hunger from her eyes.

"Are you alright?" she asks, softly, holding her hands out awkwardly like she doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

(I can think of a few things.)

"Fine. Better than fine." I wriggle a little to get comfortable, stretching my arms over my head and arching my back a little, giving her my most blatant 'come hither' look. Her gaze darkens with desire, but she still doesn't move.

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" she asks. Her voice is low and throaty, rougher than her usual smooth tones, but all the sexier for it. Gods help me, if she doesn't move soon, I might just have to drag her down here with me and *show* her how much I want her.

"Yes, I'm *sure*," I say firmly. "I warn you now, I am going to make noise." I wink. "Maybe a lot of noise, if you do this right. But that doesn't mean I'm not *very* happy to be here. And I will tell you if there's a problem. Trust yourself. Trust *me*." 

I hold her gaze until she gives a slow nod and murmurs: "Very well."

Good. Although I'll be surprised if that's the last time she hesitates. Better safe than sorry, and all that. I do understand. It makes sense.

(And I will try my best to be patient with her. No matter how frustrating it may be.)

(I wonder why someone normally so confident and sure of herself should be so uncertain about this one thing. A societal taboo, perhaps? Cultural differences make my head hurt sometimes. Or perhaps it's a personal hang-up.)

(Maybe she'll tell me about it, afterwards.) 

(Maybe she won't.)

(Either way, I think this is going to be good for her. In more ways than the obvious.)

"So..." I draw out the word, let my own need turn my voice smoky and dark. "I can help noticing that I'm still mostly clothed. Aren't you going to do something about that?"

She laughs softly.

"Now who is being impatient?"

"I'm allowed to be. Unlike some people not a million miles away from here, *I've* never made a big deal about the supposed virtue of patience."

And I may be many things, but I like to think that a hypocrite is not one of them.

"Indeed, you have not," she murmurs. "Quite the opposite."

Finally -- finally! -- she condescends to join me on the bed. Anticipation burns hotly within me but, frustratingly, all she does is look.

Maybe she needs just a little push...

"Well, if *you're* not going to undress me," I sigh, slowly running my hands up over my thighs, my hips, my belly and then finally coming to rest just below my breasts, toying with a still-fastened button. "Maybe I'll just do it myself."

Suddenly, Teyla's weight is pressing me into the mattress. Wrapping her slim fingers around my wrists, she pushes them up to rest on the pillow above my head, holding them in place for a moment or two -- it certainly gets her point across -- before letting them go.

"Remember how I said that you would know if I wanted to put my hands on you?" she says.

"Yes," I say, then arch a little beneath her, my breath quickening as she brushes her palms over my breasts and then cups them through the thin-yet-not-thin-enough material of my half-undone bodice and my lacy bra.

"Vala." The way she almost growls my name makes me shiver a little. "I want to put my hands on you. All over you."

"So do it," I whisper.

This time, she answers with actions rather than words, her deft hands making short work of my bodice's remaining fastenings. Flinging the two halves apart with an impatient gesture, she cups my breasts again, meeting my eyes with a hungry smile as she brushes her thumbs lightly over my nipples.

"I like this undergarment," she says lightly. "The material is so delicate, and black looks very fine against your skin."

"This, ah, this is one of my own." I arch my back, displaying it -- and me -- to best effect. "The Amata may be masters of many crafts, but they've apparently yet to develop the art of underwiring."

Although, given the way one of the girls who dressed me was exclaiming over it, that might not be true for very much longer.

(Yes, yes, I may have been too dazed to figure out exactly *why* I was being primped and preened, but I still retained enough presence to insist on wearing one of my own bras. A girl has to have her priorities, after all.)

Giving my nipples a final caress, she skims her fingers down over my belly and turns her attention to my divided skirt slash wide trouser slash culotte-things.

"How does this... Ah, I see."

She unlaces the fastening and twists her fingers in the silky material, pulling firmly. Shifting smoothly to one side, she yanks the garment over my hips, down my legs and all the way off, tossing it to one side. I expect my panties to follow suit, but all she does is trace her fingers along the line where waistband meets my skin, toying with the little scarlet bows at the hips. I shift restlessly beneath her hands, the feather-light brush of her fingers almost maddening when I was expecting -- hoping for -- something more firm, more forceful.

She bares her teeth in a predatory smile, the sight of it stilling the protest forming on my lips. I draw in a sharp breath and she pounces, pulling me up into a sitting position so she can roughly divest me of my open bodice. She takes the opportunity to kiss me, first on the lips, and then a laying trail of fire down my neck. I start at the feel of her sharp teeth pressing into my sensitised flesh, jerking in her embrace. She responds by pulling back to look at my face, concern in her eyes.

"Are you...?"

"Fine!" I snap, frustration giving the word a sharp edge. "But I know you can do better than that."

"So demanding," she murmurs, laughing a little under her breath.

"Just impatient. I- Oh!"

Her mouth is on my neck again, first lips, then teeth. I think she's going to leave a bruise, to mark me, and that thought draws a moan from deep in my throat.

Then my back is hitting the mattress again, and my breasts are bared to the cool night air, to her dark-eyed gaze, to her touch, to her mouth.

Oh, her mouth.

(She must have undone my bra while I was otherwise distracted. Distantly, I wonder what she did with it, but I don't care enough to try to look around and find it.)

I arch my back as trails her tongue over one sensitive nipple, as she palms and then cups my other breast in her hand, teasing and caressing until I'm panting and writhing beneath her. I start to reach for her, some hazy intention of returning the favour fluttering through my mind, but she intercepts my hands.

"No," she says sternly, pressing them back down into the mattress. "Not yet. You said that I could have my way with you."

"So I did," I gasp, feeling a little breathless.

She slides her hands along my arms, over my shoulders and down my body, lingering a little over my breasts before continuing on down over my belly and slipping under the waistband of my panties. I lift my hips instinctively, trying to meet her questing fingers, my eyes half-closing in anticipation.

But she doesn't *touch* me, not the way I want her to. Instead, I feel her weight leave my legs, my panties roughly dragged down and off, leaving me utterly naked before her.

What does she see when she looks down at me, with her eyes so smoky and dark? When she licks her lips and gives a soft, shuddering sigh?

(Suddenly, I feel exposed in way that has nothing to do with being naked. The things I've told her, the things we've shared... When she looks at me, I think she truly *sees* me. That's not something I'm really used to, and it leaves me feeling strangely vulnerable.)

(But then, like clouds driven across the face of a moon by unseen winds, the moment passes.)

I stretch and twist, giving Teyla an arch glance.

"See anything you like?"

"You," she says simply, her voice low and rough-edged. Her touch is also rough as she closes her fingers over my thighs, spreading my legs so she can kneel between them. When she lets go, I could swear I can still feel her on my skin, marking me like a brand. And then, paradoxically, she's gentle again, running her hands along the whole length of my legs, from soles to thighs. Her fingers come to rest on my inner thighs.

So close, and yet not close enough.

I shift a little beneath her, and she presses down, keeping me in place.

"Stop squirming," she orders, and her gaze holds mine just as firmly as her hands hold my body; her eyes dark and deep as the ocean at night. I could lose myself in their depths.

(Could I lose myself in her?)

"I'm not-"

But then she moves one of her hands and my unfinished retort becomes an outright lie. It feels like my whole body quivers at that first, feather-light touch; one finger brushing gently across my clitoris, tracing over the folds of my vulva. I try to lift my hips, to press myself against her hand, but she presses her other hand down on my thigh again and I try to make myself hold still.

It isn't easy.

"Look at me," Teyla commands, her voice cutting through the haze of need that's clouding my mind and scrambling my thoughts.

I open eyes I hadn't even realised had fluttered closed, tilting my head to I can see her, can see what she's doing to me. Moving slowly, deliberately, she pushes my thighs further apart, rewarding me for my obedience by circling the pad of her thumb over my clitoris, by pressing her fingers against the slick flesh between my legs.

I moan deep in my throat, and her lips curl in a pleased, predatory smile.

"Do you want me, Vala?" she asks softly.

I can feel my eyes widen.

"Of course I do." My voice sounds breathy and uneven, melting into a wordless cry as she slides one of her fingers inside me. "Can't you tell?" I pant.

"Perhaps."

Still holding my gaze, she withdraws her finger almost all the way, then plunges into me again, a little faster this time. Again and again and again, so that I can't help writhing and clenching my hands in the bedclothes. And her thumb is still flicking across my clitoris, and there's something so unutterably sexy about watching her watching me as she works her hand between my legs, bringing me closer and closer and closer...

And...

And then...

And then she... pauses.

The expression on her face is one of pure wickedness as her hand stills, leaving her thumb resting lightly on my clitoris and her finger cradled deep inside me. I can't help groaning aloud in pure frustration. I groan again, more quietly, as she withdraws her hand, leaving me craving its return.

"What are you-" I suddenly lose my train of thought as she brings her hand to her mouth, licking the taste of me from her fingers. She keeps her eyes on mine the whole time. "What are you doing?" I manage, finally, my voice raw with need.

She rests her hand on my leg, caressing my inner thigh with her fingers.

"Whatever I will," she says, almost purrs. "That was what you offered, was it not? Or have you changed your mind?"

"No. No, of course not. But-"

Teyla's weight is suddenly pressing me into the mattress again, her mouth on mine, her hands on my shoulders, my stomach, my breasts. It feels like they're everywhere; stroking, caressing, teasing.

"I said I wanted to put my hands all over you," she growls, between kisses. "Do you not remember?"

I'm not sure I could answer her if my life depended on it, especially when she lavishes attention on my breasts while plying her teeth at the junction of my neck and shoulder. She's rough and tender all at once, the contrast only serving to heighten the sensations as her hands and mouth roam my body.

I feel her weight shift, and then lift off me altogether. Before I can so much as draw breath to speak, she flips me over and straddles me. Gently brushing my hair aside, she leans in to kiss the nape of my neck before trailing her tongue down my spine. I feel the softness of her breasts pressing against my back, and I suddenly want more than anything to feel her bare skin on mine.

"You're still dressed," I point out, my words a little muffled by the pillow.

"So I am," she murmurs, trailing her fingers all the way down my back, and then caressing the curve of my buttocks.

There are many things I could say in response to that, many arguments I could make, but what ends up coming out, without conscious intention, is:

"It's not fair."

Teyla chuckles, shifting backwards to stroke her hands down the length of my legs, bending to press a kiss, and then a bite to the base of my spine. The mattress creaks and shifts beneath me, so I can tell she's not on the bed any more. I start to turn, to see what she's doing, but I find my ankles gripped firmly and *pulled* so that I slide down the bed.

(I absolutely do not yelp at the unexpectedness of it. Not at all. Not in the slightest.)

The next thing I know, my feet are flat on the floor and her warmth is at my back, pressing my upper body into the mattress.

"Life often is not fair," she says, and I shiver at the sensation of her breath on the back of my neck. "Besides, if I were disrobing, then I would not be doing *this*."

Her hand slides up between my legs, her fingers moving easily over the slick flesh, making me cry out as slides one finger inside me, and then a second, moving to a rhythm that seems to resonate through my whole body.

I try to twist around so I can see her, but she places her other hand between my shoulder blades, a wordless command to stay where I am.

"I want-" I pant, my breath hitching. "I-" I can't finish the sentence, but she understands my meaning.

"There will be time enough to see me later," she says, and I'm not the only one who sounds ragged and breathless. "For now, just *feel*." She pauses, both in speech and actions, uncertainty creeping into her voice as she adds: "If that is alright with you."

I draw a ragged breath, and then another, trying to steady my voice.

It's not just about not looking, of course; about physically doing what she says. It's also a state of mind.

Trust. Openness.

Surrender.

She's asking me to put myself in her hands, figuratively as well as literally.

Despite my earlier words, despite my obedience so far, up until now I've been holding back, keeping myself from taking that final step. From truly yielding myself to her control.

Trust... doesn't come easily to me. Sex is one thing, but submission is something else.

Especially when I crave it so badly.

Don't get me wrong, taking charge is fun too, and I've done my fair share of that in my time. But there's a freedom in surrender, in giving yourself, your will and your pleasure over to another person to do with as they will.

In letting yourself fall and trusting them to catch you.

There have been times in my life when my will not my own. When my volition was taken -- stolen -- from me. But...

But.

But making the choice to yield, freely and of my own free will, is not that. It's something entirely different.

And it makes me feel... powerful.

All this flashes through my head in the time between one breath and the next, leaving me with just one question. The most important question, really.

Do I trust Teyla enough?

But as soon as the question forms, I realise that I already know the answer. I haven't known her for very long -- hardly any time at all, really -- but I feel like I've seen who she really is, inside.

And...

I trust her.

It really is that simple.

(At least until I screw it up.)

So I clear my throat and let that truth fill my voice as I answer:

"Yes. More than alright." And then, because she still hesitates, I whisper: "Do with me as you will, Teyla."

There's a moment of stillness and quiet, when I think she may turn back anyway, but then she sighs.

"As you wish," she murmurs.

With that, she moves again, thrusting her fingers into me in a steady, confident rhythm. I'm so *ready* that this alone would likely be enough to undo me, but then she wriggles her other hand between me and the mattress and stroking my clitoris in counterpoint -- harmony? -- to the rhythm of her thrusts.

And then the pressure is building like a tidal wave, my skin tingling, my breath coming swift and shallow, my pulse beating like thunder in my ears.

Closer, closer.

My world narrows until there's nothing in it but sensation, nothing but this feeling rising within me.

The wave breaks.

And I let myself fall.

"You did make noise," Teyla observes, as my trembling body finally stills.

"Told you I would," I say, my words muffled by the duvet.

"I liked it." I can hear hunger in her voice. I would lift my head to look at her, but I seem to be lacking the energy to do so right at this juncture.

Perhaps in a moment or two. Or three.

But Teyla takes the decision out of my hands, withdrawing her fingers and, seemingly as part of the same motion, flipping me over onto my back.

(My legs flail a little before my feet find the floor again, but I'm sure it doesn't look *very* undignified. Not really.)

"What-" I start to ask.

"I am not yet done with you," she informs me, and that voice, that calm, commanding voice, sets my insides a quiver all over again. Looking deep into my eyes, she brings her fingers to her mouth. "Mmm," she all-but purrs.

I think I might be holding my breath as I watch her lick her fingers clean.

She sinks slowly to her knees before me, still holding my gaze, and I think I could almost climax just from the look in her eyes.

"Look at me," she commands, and I prop myself up on my elbows so I can see her better. Her lips curve into a feral smile as she pushes my legs apart and slides between them. "You may make all the noise you wish," she says, finally breaking eye contact as she gracefully bends her neck.

And, after a little while, I do.

 

Afterwards -- after she's had her way with me and I with her -- we lie there in the bed, sated and sweaty, a tangle of limbs and bedclothes. I let my gaze roam over Teyla, enjoying the sight of her bare, bronzed skin. If only the duvet wasn't covering some of the more interesting parts. Still, I can always do something about that.

She makes a wordless sound of protest as I yank the duvet down, rolling her eyes when I blatantly and unashamedly ogle her breasts.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but the words are spoken too drowsily to sound annoyed.

"Just admiring the view," I smile back.

"It is *chilly* in here."

I shrug. "I'm fine."

She glowers at me and snatches the duvet back, settling it over the pair of us and cosily tucking us both in.

"Spoilsport," I mutter. Although, maybe she's right. I suppose there is something of a nip in the air. I plump my pillows and snuggle down beneath the covers with her (hardly a chore), letting the silence lengthen for a few moments before I ask, casually: "So, how was that for you?"

As cliché a phrase as it may be, Teyla's answering smile lights up her face.

"It was wonderful, Vala," she says softly. "*You* were wonderful."

I smile back at her.

"You weren't so bad yourself."

Silence reigns for a little while, although I fancy it's a comfortable one, both of us lost in our thoughts. Not that I'm really thinking much of anything, beyond amusement at how utterly, completely and absolutely I'd misjudged Teyla based on my first impression of her.

Oh, well. I suppose I can't be right all the time. And this is one occasion on which I'm actually rather happy that I wasn't.

"I would like to do this again."

I grin.

"Woman, you're insatiable." I pause for dramatic effect. "I most definitely approve."

"I did not mean right at this moment," she says, with some asperity. Though she can't seem to help herself cracking a smile at my exaggerated moue of disappointment. "I meant in the future," she continues after a moment. "If you would like to, of course." 

"I think that would be acceptable," I say, leaning over to kiss her lightly. "I'm going to be in the Pegasus galaxy for a little while, after all. I wouldn't want to get bored."

"Well, we certainly would not want that," she replies, laughing. "I have heard tell of the things that happen when Vala Mal Doran becomes bored."

"All lies," I say, shrugging lazily. "Well, mostly lies. Some, at least." I sigh, stretching luxuriously.

One of these days, I really must find out who's spreading these rumours about me. I understand that people are fascinated by me, but such careless talk could really get a girl in trouble.

I'm finding it a little hard to care all that much right at the moment, though. I'm just feeling so *good*.

"That reminds me," Teyla murmurs. She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with a slight smile curving her lips. "So, tell me," she says, her voice a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Did you really steal a course of the ATA gene treatment?"

I think about my answer for a moment, trying to decide how best to describe the combination of charm, bribes, sneakiness and just plain awesomeness that let me pull off that daring acquisition. Making friends with Dr Biro. Convincing her that, hypothetically, it would be foolish of the Lanteans to deny themselves such a potentially valuable resource. Appealing to her scientific curiosity regarding what the effects of the treatment on a former Goa'uld. The intelligence gathering necessary to figure out her fondness for a particular kind of tea. The contacts to actually get a box of the stuff shipped out here.

In the end, there's one word stands out above all the other possibilities.

I lift my head to give her a gentle kiss, smiling against her lips.

"I didn't steal it," I murmur.

"No?" she asks, managing to pack a truly astounding amount of disbelief into that one little word.

"No." I pull back a little so I can see her face. My smile broadens. "I negotiated for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... we're over 50k words. What is particularly amusing about this is that Kitty's initial estimate was that this story would only be around 5k.
> 
> Only an order of magnitude out. :)


End file.
